


Through A Child's Eyes

by Chillmaster3000



Series: Cerulean AU [5]
Category: Hannibal (TV), The West Wing
Genre: Cerulean AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-19 07:46:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2380433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chillmaster3000/pseuds/Chillmaster3000
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal AU. Will adopted his cousin's daughter, Cerulean, and she witnesses the events of the series. When Will is imprisoned, Cerulean must try to stay safe from the man who put him there and goes to Sam Seaborn for help. Spoilers up to and including Season 2 of Hannibal. Not much West Wing, just Sam and Ainsley with occasional appearances from Josh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Re-Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't supposed to be a thing. It was a fun idea- what if Will Graham had gotten custody of the Barbers? What if Cerulean got to see Hannibal Lecter's machinations? 60 pages later, it was too long and too fun not to publish.   
> This is canon-compliant to Season One of Hannibal and Season Seven of Hannibal. In regards to the Cerulean stories, Sam was told Cerulean was going to Will before he mentioned to Josh that Zach asked him to adopt her and everything after The Beginning of Our Lives didn't happen. So it's an AU of an AU.

Sam’s not sure why there’s an appointment with Dr. Alana Bloom on his schedule, but there is and it’s in five minutes.

Sam comes back into his office. He tries to put his desk into some semblance of order with his five minutes- between the job and trying to spend time with Ainsley there isn’t a whole lot of time for organization. He’s managed to put the papers in mostly-categorized piles when Kathy opens the door to his office.

“Sam, Dr. Bloom is here,” she says.

“Send her in. Thanks, Kathy.” Sam shoves the piles aside as Kathy steps away from the door. 

The woman who enters does not look old enough to be a doctor. She doesn’t look old enough to be out of high school, if Sam is honest. She’s tiny, to start, with long dark curls and a round face. But what makes Sam really pause are her big brown eyes. He feels as though he knows those eyes, knows the apprehension and fear in them.

“Mr. Seaborn,” the young woman says. 

“Dr. Bloom?” Sam replies. She winces.

“Actually no. I used my aunt’s name to get this appointment. I wasn’t sure mine would work,” she says. “I don’t know if you remember me, Mr. Seaborn. I’m Cerulean Barber.” She pulls back the curls from the left side of her face and shows him a long jagged scar on her face. With a jolt, Sam recalls seeing that scar when it was new, after that awful car crash.

“Cerulean! Of course, I knew I recognized you,” Sam says. “Look at you, all grown up! How old are you now, sixteen?” Cerulean lets her hair fall back with a smile.

“Seventeen last December,” she says. 

“Seventeen. Wow,” Sam says. “Here, sit down.” He pulls out the chair in front of his desk for her. As Cerulean sits, Sam takes the chair next to hers. She fidgets slightly.

“Mr. Seaborn, I really hope I haven’t taken you away from anything important-”

“Nope. The floor’s all yours,” Sam says. “What brings you here?”

“Um…” Cerulean bites her lip. “You remember that I was adopted by my cousin Will?”

“Yes.”

“Well, he’s kinda in custody right now,” Cerulean says. “He’s actually in the hospital with inflammatory encephalitis, but he got arrested before they brought him there.” Sam pauses.

“Okay. So he’s sick but in custody,” he says. “Why?”

“They think he’s a serial killer,” Cerulean answers after a moment of hesitation. 

“You’re kidding,” Sam says. 

“Nope. They really think that.”

“Wait, they think that? They don’t know?” Sam says. 

“I know he’s not,” Cerulean says. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Okay, then why are you here?” Sam asks. He’s a little disturbed by the fact that she doesn’t believe the cops about Will being a serial killer.

“Will has this friend, a psychiatrist. For whatever reason, everybody likes him but he sets off my creep alarms,” Cerulean says.

“Creeps alarms?” Sam repeats.

“Every teenage girl has creep alarms. It’s how we stay alive.” Cerulean looks a little sad as she says that. “Most of us, anyway. Sometimes they don’t help.”

“And this guy sets the creep alarms off,” Sam says. “Anyone ever suggest he might be the serial killer?” 

“That’s not funny,” Cerulean says. 

“Sorry.”

“Anyway, he wants to spend time with me while Dad is -while Will is in jail, saying I need a ‘positive male influence’ in my life,” Cerulean says, making the air quotes. “Obviously I don’t want to spend any time with this guy, especially not by myself.”

“So what’s your plan?” Sam says.

“I was… oh, God, this was a stupid idea.” Cerulean puts her face in her hands. Sam realizes what she’d planned.

“You were going to ask me to be the influence he was talking about?” he says. Cerulean peers out from between her fingers.

“Yeah. I just remembered you being so nice and we used to hang out when I was little and Hannibal scares me-” Cerulean sighs and lowers her hands. “I thought maybe we could, like, talk on the phone once a week or something. But you’re super-busy and we haven’t seen each other in years-”

“Okay.”

“What?” 

“I said okay,” Sam says. He knows it’s ridiculous, but he really, really feels as though he should do it. Not just because meeting this girl out of the blue for the second time is too much of a coincidence for him. She’s alone and she’s scared. But now Cerulean’s eyes lit up and Sam can remember the first time they met with startlingly clarity.

“Really?” Cerulean says, trying and failing to keep the optimism out of her voice.

“Really. I can block out an hour or two for us to talk or meet up once a week,” Sam says. It’ll be difficult, but he can do it. Ainsley has ‘book club’ with her friends biweekly, he can always schedule Cerulean in during those. In between, he can figure something out. Cerulean’s smile is one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen.

“Thank you, Mr. Seaborn-”

“Sam. You can call me Sam.”

“Thank you, Sam. This means a lot to me.”

*

Sam meets the actual Dr. Alana Bloom a few days later when she corners him outside the Senate building.

“Are you Sam Seaborn?” Sam turns to see a dark-haired woman with bright blue eyes striding up to him. He finds himself somewhat intimidated, despite her short stature. 

“That’s me. And you are?”

“Dr. Alana Bloom. I understand someone used my name to make an appointment with you two days ago,” she says, standing in front of him. Dr. Bloom strikes Sam as the kind of person people refer to as a force of nature. There’s something powerful in the pinning gaze of those eyes, in the way her shoulders are squared. Sam’s reminded of Dr. Bartlet, of C.J., and of Ainsley.

“Yeah. It was no big deal, Cerulean was just-”

“Cerulean made the appointment?” Dr. Bloom interrupts, incredulous. 

“Yes,” Sam says slowly. “Is there a problem?”

“Cerulean hasn’t spoken to anyone since her dad-” Dr. Bloom stops mid-sentence, a flash of vulnerability in her eyes. “Did she talk to you?”

“Yes. We spoke for about an hour,” Sam says. “I didn’t realize things were that bad. I knew she was upset, but she didn’t say she wasn’t talking to anyone.”

“She doesn’t have many people to talk to. There’s me, and there’s Dr. Lecter, but she won’t speak to us,” Dr. Bloom says. Sam wonders if Dr. Lecter is the creepy Hannibal guy. “Why you?”

“What?”

“Why is she talking to you?” Dr. Bloom asks. Sam shrugs. He imagines the answer ‘she said Hannibal was a creep’ probably won’t go well.

“We knew each other when she was little. I guess she decided now was the time to restart the friendship,” he says. “Like you said, she doesn’t have many people to talk to. Maybe she wanted someone new. Someone she knows…sort of.”

“I suppose,” Dr. Bloom says. “Thank you. For talking to her.”

“My pleasure. She’s a great girl,” Sam says. Dr. Bloom nods as she reaches into her bag. 

“This is my card. If you need to reach me for whatever reason- you have a question about Cerulean, she’s said something disturbing- this number will work.” Sam takes the card.

“Thank you. Tell Cerulean I’ll call her Thursday,” he says. “Nice meeting you.”

“And you, Mr. Seaborn.” Dr. Bloom gives him one last look-over before walking away. Sam takes a minute to think that maybe this is going to be much more complicated than he thought.

He hopes he doesn’t meet Hannibal next.

*

“Cerulean’s talking to someone,” Alana says when Hannibal opens the door. He gives a small smile as he contemplates this change of events.

“Excellent. Come in, tell me more.” Hannibal ushers Alana in, bringing her to the kitchen. He begins to prepare coffee as Alana speaks.

“I got a call from the White House,” she says. Hannibal raises an eyebrow. “That was my reaction. Apparently, someone used my name to get an appointment with Sam Seaborn, the Deputy Chief of Staff.”

“I assume that is someone rather important,” Hannibal says. He’ll have to look it up later. American politics have never been all that interesting to him.

“He’s up there. I’m not sure exactly how high he is on the totem pole,” Alana says. “But I found him this morning. He said Cerulean made the appointment and came to see him.”

“Really?” Hannibal says. “Why him?”

“Apparently, they know each other. I remember Will saying that people from the White House visited Cerulean from time to time when she was younger, but I hadn’t heard anything about them in years,” Alana says. “But she spoke to him, Hannibal, for an hour. This is really good news.” Hannibal nods and smiles as he finishes the coffee. He wonders if perhaps Cerulean went to Seaborn because of what Hannibal had said about needing a positive male influence. He’d meant himself, obviously; Cerulean had shied away from him as long as they’d known each other and that could mean trouble. Will had only shrugged when Hannibal asked if Cerulean had a problem with him. Hannibal needs to find out what she knows. If she’s anything like Will, Hannibal might have to take steps…

*

Sam reads everything about Will Graham he can get his hands on. The picture it paints is…not pretty, but Sam knows better than to take the word of a tabloid journalist like Freddie Lounds at face value. Sam takes the facts as they are and comes to the conclusion that, with the exception of the coughed up ear, most of the evidence isn’t that condemning. The ear, though. That’s pretty tough to explain. Sure, the fishing lures could have been planted, but it’s pretty damn difficult to put an ear in someone’s stomach without them noticing. 

He makes the mistake of trying to talk to Josh about it. Josh looks at him like he’s grown a second head.

“I’ve never thought about trying to frame someone for murder using cannibalism. Most sane people don’t,” Josh says.

“So what you’re saying is if he was framed, the framer is insane,” Sam says.

“What I’m saying is stop thinking about it and start thinking about Boehner, because he’s actually relevant to your job. Does Ainsley know you’re reading this stuff?”

*

Sam calls Cerulean on Thursday afternoon. From their earlier talk, he knows that she goes back to school tomorrow and he wants to be sure she feels all right before then. Her voice sounds happy when she picks up, though she scolds a few dogs shortly afterward.

“Alana told me she talked to you,” Cerulean says.

“We did, though some might use the word ambush,” Sam replies, leaning back in his desk chair. He hears a long-suffering sigh on the other end.

“Ugh, I’m sorry. She’s become this super over-protective aunt lately,” Cerulean says. 

“It might have something to do with you not talking to her,” Sam says. “She’s worried about you.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s just…” Cerulean grunts in frustration. “I know. I know it’s not him, Sam, and I know who it is, but I know no one’s gonna believe me. Especially not Alana.”

“If you know who… it is, why don’t you prove it?” Sam asks. He hesitates to say this, but if the reason Cerulean won’t talk to anyone is that she thinks no one will listen, he’d do well to listen. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Well,” Cerulean says. “It’s a long story. It starts with Cassie Boyle…”


	2. The Minnesota Shrike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cerulean's view of the events in Apertif. She got a new dog and a newfound anger with Jack Crawford.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grammar note: I switch tenses. The chapters happening in the 'present' of the story are in present tense. The flashbacks to cases are in past tense. It helps me stay organized and gives a better sense of time. Hope that's not too confusing.

Cerulean came down from her bedroom when the barking started. The dogs had a different way of greeting a new pack member than the one they used for Will. There were warning snarls this time, so Cerulean was unsurprised by the dirty stray Will held. 

“Hey,” he said. 

“Hi. You didn’t pick that one up in Minnesota, did you?” Cerulean asked. Will shook his head. 

“Couple miles up the road. Which is why I’m late.” Cerulean nodded.

“I’ll get the stuff to wash him. I have dinner in the microwave if you’re hungry,” she said. 

“You’re a saint.” Cerulean went back into the house for the ‘Stray-Kit,’ as she had named it. She thought Will looked pale and exhausted. Cerulean hoped he wasn’t stressing himself out by helping the BSU.

*

Will washed and looked over the stray before putting him in the travel cage. Cerulean let the others out so they can meet their new friend properly. She had no illusions that the dog will be leaving.

“Everybody, this is Winston,” Will announced. “Winston, this is everybody.” The dogs sniffed Winston and he sniffed them back. All seemed to be well. 

“Are you going to eat now, Dad?” Cerulean asked. “I’ll sit with them.”

“I’ll be right back with the food and we’ll both sit with them,” Will said. Cerulean took a seat next to the cage as Will went inside. Winston turned around to try sniffing her. Cerulean put her hand by his nose.

“Welcome to the pack, buddy.” 

*

Cerulean waited until Will finished eating before asking how it went. He sighed.

“There’s a body now,” Will said softly. “He put her back in bed. Whatever he’s done to the others, he couldn’t do to her.”

“Why not?” 

“There’s something different about this one. She’s…not right,” Will said. “She wasn’t the one, the golden ticket, she’s…wrong, somehow.”

“So he put her in bed…to say sorry?” Cerulean guessed. Will smiled hollowly. 

“Yes, that sounds about right.”

“Are you…are you going to be okay?” Cerulean asked. Will turned to her in confusion. “I mean, you don’t even like watching slasher movies because they get into your head. This is a real life killer.”

“I’ll be fine,” Will said. “It’s just this one. We’ll catch this one and I’ll be done.”

“You really think Jack Crawford will just let you go?” Cerulean said. Will didn’t answer. He scraped the remains of his dinner of his plate to the salivating dogs at their feet, save for a small piece he tossed to Winston. Cerulean took the silence as a negative.

“I’m just going to do the one,” Will said again. “Just this one. So no more girls get hurt.” Cerulean said nothing; she could only think that he saw her when he thought of those girls.

*

Cerulean met Will at the Academy after his class finished. He was chucking things into his briefcase like they had tried to hurt a dog.

“Hey, you okay, Dad?” Cerulean asked. Will looked up at her.

“Hey, Cerule. I’m fine, just annoyed.”

“With?”

“Jack Crawford brought in a psychiatrist to analyze me.” Will slammed the lid of his briefcase.

“Wow, what a dick move,” Cerulean said.

“Language,” Will warned, jabbing a finger at her. 

“What a jerk move. How’d it go?”

“Well, this Dr. Lecter said something about how I don’t like eye contact, then we talked about mental forts, and I’m fairly certain Jack now thinks I’m made of glass or something,” Will said. 

“Maybe he’ll leave you alone now,” Cerulean suggested. Will glared at her. 

“I. Am. Fine.”

“I’m not saying you aren’t, I’m just saying you’re safer in a classroom and I don’t feel like shopping for a new dad,” Cerulean replied. Will rolled his eyes. 

“Nothing is going to happen to me. Now, let’s go do something unrelated to serial killers. I need a break,” he said, picking up his briefcase.

“They opened a new ice cream place two blocks from here,” Cerulean said. Will put an arm around her shoulders.

“Ice cream sounds delightful. Did you do anything involving murder today?”

“Not literally, no.”

“Then you can tell me all about your day. Even the metaphoric murder.” 

*

Will was up before Cerulean the next morning, which almost never happened. She could tell by the hurried way he fed the dogs that something had happened.

“There’s another body,” he said when he saw Cerulean. “I have to go to Minnesota.”

“But he doesn’t leave bodies. Why does he suddenly start dropping them left and right?” Cerulean asked, grabbing breakfast supplies. “I can eat and run.”

“Well, I’ll figure that out when I get there. Alana can bring you home again, I already called,” Will said. He picked up his bag and hers. “You got everything?”

“Yeah, let’s go.” Cerulean followed Will out the door with a sick feeling in her stomach.

*

Alana showed up at Cerulean’s high school exactly ten minutes after the bell rang to drive Cerulean home. As her unofficial aunt asked politely how school was today, Cerulean’s phone buzzed in her pocket. Cerulean pulled it out and saw Will’s message light up on her screen.

'U w/ Alana?'

“That your dad?” Alana asked. 

“Yep,” Cerulean said, sending Will a similar affirmative.

“You should ask him how he’s doing.”

“I will.”

'It’s not r guy. It’s a copycat,' Will had sent back before Cerulean could ask. 'But I know who I’m looking 4 now.'

“He seems to be doing all right,” Cerulean said. 'That’s kinda a big leap, Dad.'

'Call me when u get home. I can explain.'

*

“He’s a father,” Will began. “He has a daughter who fits our victimology to a t. She’s going to college soon, she’s leaving him, and he doesn’t want to let her go.”

“And you got that by looking at the copycat?” Cerulean asked, watching the dogs run in the front yard. 

“The copycat did everything the exact opposite way. He left Cassie Boyle out in the open like an animal carcass. Our guy loves his victims. He takes care of them. The copycat just used Cassie and disposed of her,” Will said. “But he knew how our guy did it. He knew exactly what to do to present this photo-negative of Elise Nichols.”

“Wouldn’t that suggest he has access to the evidence?” Cerulean said. 

“Or access to our killer,” Will said. “You’ll lock all the doors and keep the dogs with you tonight, won’t you?”

“Of course. That’s what I do whenever you’re away,” Cerulean said. Winston came up to her, looking hopeful. She scratched him behind the ears and he whined happily.

“Who was that?”

“Winston. He’s fitting in pretty well, although I think he’s going to like me better than you,” Cerulean said. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Prime Minister?” Winston’s tail wagged and he yapped. Will laughed.

“I didn’t think of that when I named him,” he said.

“Well, he’s the Prime Minister now. I don’t think the others will mind too much,” Cerulean said. There was a sharp bark from Cerulean’s left. Buster had noticed Winston getting all the attention and decided this was unacceptable. “Except Buster.”

“Buster is your dog,” Will said. Cerulean picked up the smaller dog with one hand and put him in her lap. Buster made himself comfortable there. If a dog could look smug, Buster would be the epitome of the feeling. 

“When are you coming home?” Cerulean asked. Will sighed. 

“Well, we have a working profile, so probably a couple days,” he said. “Do you want me to ask Alana to stay with you?”

“What, and miss the chance to throw a totally rad party with no ‘rents around?” Cerulean couldn’t stop the giggle in the middle of her sentence. 

“Cerulean, you dislike human interaction almost as much as I do.”

“Not true. I just like people in small doses,” Cerulean said. “If I need Alana, I’ll call her. Promise.”

“Thank you. I should go, Jack wants me to help go over suspects,” Will said. “I’ll call you tomorrow when you get out of school.”

“All right. I love you, Dad,” Cerulean said.

“I love you too. Talk to you tomorrow.”

*

Cerulean got the call at five-thirty, after biting her nails for two hours wondering why Will hadn’t called. The dogs could sense she was upset and kept trying to lick her to calm her down. It just made her slimy and mildly irritated when she couldn’t reach the phone through the pile of dog.

“Dad?”

“Hi.” Will sounded exhausted. “It’s over. I’m at the airport now.”

“What happened?” Cerulean asked.

“Dr. Lecter and I were going through suspects and there was one that struck me,” Will began. “We went to go question him, but somehow he knew we were coming. He- he slit his wife’s throat and threw her at us as we came up. Then he held his daughter as a human shield, knife to her throat. I- I managed to shoot him before he could cut all the way, but she lost a lot of blood. She’s in a coma now.”

“But she’s alive,” Cerulean said.

“Yes.”

“That’s good, right?” Will sighed.

“Yes. And no other girls will get killed by her dad, it’s just…”

“Just?”

“When I saw him holding her like that…for a moment I thought I saw you,” Will admitted. Cerulean didn’t know what to say. “Cerulean, I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you.”

“I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you either,” Cerulean said. “What time does your flight get here?”

“Nine-thirty. I should be home by ten.”

“Good. I’ll be up,” Cerulean said. 

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to. I’m worried about you,” Cerulean interrupted. “I told you, I don’t want to go shopping for a new dad.” Will chuckled softly.

“Not today. I’ll see you when I get home. Love you.”

“Love you too.”


	3. We Stick Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alana comes home to find Winston is missing. Cerulean sees her friends for the first time since Will was locked up.

“So that’s when you first started to suspect Dr. Lecter?” Sam says. It took about half an hour for Cerulean to explain it all, though Sam hardly noticed, transfixed as he was by the story.

“Sort of,” Cerulean says. “The way Dad told me it all happened…I knew there was something odd about a guy who brought a protein scramble to someone who had basically stormed off on him earlier. And he was the first to know they were going to see Hobbs, so he could have called ahead. Alana said they found a blocked number calling the Hobbs house just before everything happened.”

“But why would he do that?” Sam asks. “I mean, he knew Hobbs had murdered eight girls.”

“I think that he just wanted to see what would happen,” Cerulean replies. “But that’s what happened. You can look at the files and everything.”

“I believe you.” Sam’s surprised to find he actually does. Sure, he might throw a little weight and look at the official reports, but he doesn’t think Cerulean’s lying to him. Maybe he’s still naïve, but Sam sees no reason to doubt her yet. Cerulean is definitely telling him what she thinks happened.

“Do you think anyone else will?” Cerulean says sourly.

“Probably not yet. There’s more to the story?”

“A whole lot more. However, Aunt Alana just pulled into the drive way and if she hears me talking about this, she’ll tell somebody and that’s not going to go well,” Cerulean says. 

“Right,” Sam says. “So tell me more about that play you’re auditioning for.”

“Oh, well, it’s this small theater company my friend’s sister runs, and they’re looking to start a teen group, I guess to grab new talent before the old ones retire…”

*

Alana walks into the house and is greeted by the pack of dogs. They are restless and mildly whiny. Alana knows they want Will back, and it breaks her heart a little to know they might not see him for a very long time.

Alana counts the dogs as she takes off her coat. Only nine- Winston’s not pressing against her legs like the rest of the pack. Maybe he’s with Cerulean. As Alana moves further into the house, she can hear Cerulean talking to someone- probably that Seaborn man. 

“-and some asshole said ‘you’ve got experience with crazy, blue chick, you should go for it.’ So I’m going for it and shoving my starring role in his face,” Cerulean says as Alana passes the living room. Alana has to hold back a laugh. “Yes, I do. I’m awesome and I’m not afraid to say so.” She really isn’t, most of the time. Alana likes that about Cerulean, though she does wonder where Cerulean got that from. Will has never been one to tout his skills. Perhaps he encouraged Cerulean to develop her confidence knowing his lack of it was not always helpful. Or perhaps he just always told her she was wonderful, so Cerulean believes it. Either option is equally adorable and heart-wrenching.

Alana goes into the kitchen and begins making herself lunch. After she’s finished and sat down, Cerulean stops talking in the other room. The girl walks into the kitchen. Alana pauses.

“Hey, you hungry?” Cerulean shakes her head.

“I’m sorry,” she says. Alana is stunned to hear Cerulean say anything to her. She watches, open-mouthed, as Cerulean sits across from her.

“I shouldn’t have…not spoken to you for so long,” Cerulean continues. “I…haven’t been in a good place lately and I was afraid what I might say. You’re family, Alana, and I didn’t want to say something I didn’t mean and hurt you.”

“Cerulean…” Alana takes a moment as she tries to figure out what to say. “This is very hard for you. It’s hard for me too. And I appreciate you trying to…preserve the peace, for want of a better word. But you can always talk to me. I want you to know that.” Cerulean doesn’t answer for a moment, holding Alana’s gaze with her big brown eyes. Despite the difference in color, they seem incredibly similar to Will’s.

“Thank you,” Cerulean says. “That means a lot to me.” Alana nods.

“Have you seen Winston? He wasn’t with the others when I got in,” she says. Cerulean frowns. 

“No. Actually I don’t think I’ve seen him all day,” she says. “You let the dogs out this morning, right?”

“Yes, and I called them back before I left.”

“Did you count them? When they came back in?” Cerulean asks.

“No, I just made sure Buster got in, because he likes to run into the woods,” Alana says. “Shit. We’re going to have to go dog-searching, aren’t we?” Cerulean nods.

“Finish your lunch first. I’ll rustle up some dog-bait.”

*

Between the two of them, Alana and Cerulean pull together six people to join their search party. Alana called Beverly, Jimmy, and Hannibal. Cerulean brought in three of her friends: Trace, Andie, and George. The four teenagers are surprisingly at ease with each other. No one mentions, obliquely or otherwise, Will. Trace and George barrel into underbrush in search of Winston, flinging fallen leaves at the girls. Andie comes up with a variety of different calls for Winston. She and Cerulean howl them and throw leaves back at the boys. The four adults hang back from the loud and rambunctious kids. They attempt to plot out where Winston might have gone with maps Beverly and Hannibal brought.

After an hour or so of fruitless chasing in the woods behind Alana’s house, all eight congregate by the back porch.

“Okay, Winston’s not here,” Trace says, shaking leaves out of his hair.

“We’ll have to try somewhere else. Cerulean, where did you get Winston from?” Jimmy says.

“Off the side of the road. Our dogs are all strays,” Cerulean says. 

“Do you know which road?” Beverly asks.

“My street. He was a few miles away.”

“There’s nothing out by your house,” Andie says. “He must have been wandering a while.”

“Then perhaps we must consider the obvious,” Hannibal says. Trace, Andie, and George turn to him with expressions that clearly indicate they’ve never heard a voice like his before.

“Which is?” Alana says.

“Winston went home,” Hannibal says. They all exchange looks before everyone’s gaze seems to settle on Cerulean. She is unperturbed by the attention, meeting Hannibal’s gaze.

“Then let’s go home.”

*

They pile into cars and drive to the Graham house. Cerulean goes with her male friends, Beverly with Jimmy and Andie, and Alana with Hannibal.

The plan is decided as thus: Hannibal and Alana will actually go to the house. Winston can’t get in by himself, so they’ll just check around the house. The kids will check the woods as far as they can, with the exception of Andie, who will go with Beverly and Jimmy to check up and down the road.

As they reach the house, Alana’s heart sinks. The crime scene tape is still over the door. She thinks of all the times she’s come to this house, the birthdays and the holiday parties Will had solely for Cerulean’s benefit. The memories all seem to be locked away in the house now.

“It is a good thing we did not bring Cerulean here,” Hannibal says. He turns to her, concern apparent on his face. “Are you all right, Alana?” She nods, wiping at her face.

“Yes, I’m fine. And you’re right, it wouldn’t be good for Cerulean to come here,” she says. “Come on, we’ve got a dog to find.” They get out of the car and amble up to the house.

“It is good that Cerulean is speaking again,” Hannibal says. “I was afraid she might not speak for a very long time.”

“So was I,” Alana says. “But after she finished speaking to Mr. Seaborn this afternoon, she came to me and apologized for not speaking to me for so long.” Hannibal nods.

“This is good. She is recovering, then, or starting to.”

“It’s going to be a long time before she recovers,” Alana says. “She didn’t just lose Will. She lost Abigail too.” 

“Yes. They were both very important to her,” Hannibal says. “At least, I know she’s very important to them. I must admit I find Cerulean very hard to read. And she doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

“Oh, Hannibal, don’t say that.” Even as the words leave her mouth, Alana knows Hannibal is right. Cerulean has never been comfortable around Hannibal; she won’t even be alone in the same room with him. Alana used to avoid being alone with Will but she has a feeling Cerulean has different reasons with Hannibal.

“I don’t think Will’s predicament has made things any better between us either,” Hannibal says. “I had tried to offer my support to her but she, as you know, would not speak to me.”

“Things will get better, Hannibal. She said she wouldn’t speak before because she was afraid to say something hurtful,” Alana says. “She’s a sweet girl. She’s just hurting. Things will get better between the two of you.”

“I hope so. I feel a certain…responsibility to her now. I could not save Will, nor Abigail, but perhaps I could help Cerulean,” Hannibal says. 

“I think that’s very good of you, Hannibal.” They finally come around to the back porch, where they find Winston sitting by the door. He lifts his head as they approach, big eyes sad. 

“Winston! There you are!” Alana says, going up the porch steps. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you-” Winston is up like a flash, racing down the steps as Hannibal climbs them. He disappears into the woods. Alana huffs. 

“Well, that was rude,” she mutters. There’s a shout from the woods.

“WINSTON!” Two voices combine in their excitement and Winston’s reply is nearly as loud. There’s some scuffling and Alana’s phone rings.

“Hello?”

“The boys have Winston,” Cerulean says. 

“Yes, we heard,” Alana replies. “He was on the back porch. He ran from us.”

“Yeah, he might have tried running from us too, but you can’t outrun George,” Cerulean says. “Meet you back at the house?” 

“Sure thing. See you in a few.” Cerulean hangs up.

“All is well?” Hannibal asks.

“They have Winston. They’re heading back out,” Alana says. “I’ll call Beverly and Jimmy, let them know and thank them.” She looks up at him. “Thank you, Hannibal. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

*

Trace carries Winston back to the car. The dog kinda fits in his arms, but Winston makes it a little more difficult by licking Trace’s face. George and Cerulean laugh at Trace’s inventive curses as they walk on Trace’s left. George keeps trying to help Cerulean through the wood, but she knows this land so well she skips over the obstacles that take the boys extra effort to hurdle. George ends up half-carrying Winston over those. The boys won’t let Cerulean carry the dog. She doesn’t have the heart to tell them she’s carried the Great Dane before, once for two miles because he was stupid enough to go poking in thorns.

They get to the car and Winston sits in the back with Cerulean. He sits on her lap, whining pitifully. Cerulean runs her fingers through his fur.

“I know, Mr. Prime Minister. I miss it too.” George and Trace get in the front seat. They let Cerulean talk to Winston, scolding him for running off and dragging them all out here. They find Beverly Katz’s car on the road and drive right behind it. Andie turns around in the backseat and waves. Trace waves to her. 

“Hey, Cerule?” he says when Andie turns back around. “Listen, we wanted to, uh, we wanted to say that, um, we-”

“We don’t care that your dad got arrested for being a serial killer,” George interrupts, blunt as ever.

“Possibly being a serial killer,” Trace amends. “It doesn’t matter what’s going on with him. We’re your friends. We still love you and we’ll be here for you.” Cerulean is quiet for a moment, hands still wrapped on Winston’s fur. She remembers Abigail’s friends disappearing after the Minnesota Shrike thing was revealed. Marissa wanted to stay, but Marissa died.

“Thank you,” Cerulean says finally. “That means a lot to me.”

“And we speak for the whole group,” George says. “Not just the two of us. We talked this over.”

“Yeah, Andie said she was sticking with you, and anyone who wasn’t could walk out the door,” Trace says. “And nobody did. Walk out the door, I mean.”

“That’s…that’s really cool of you guys,” Cerulean says. “He…it wasn’t him. It wasn’t my dad. I appreciate you sticking with me, and you should know that.” George and Trace nod.

“I was pretty sure,” Trace says. “I mean, what serial killer has a bunch of cuddly dogs?”

*

They arrive at Alana’s house just moments after Beverly Katz, Jimmy Price, and Andie do. Winston hops out of the car and tackles Andie. He slobbers all over her face and she giggles.

“He sure is a friendly troublemaker!” Jimmy Price notes with a smile.

“Winston loves his friends,” Cerulean says. “Thanks for helping us find him.”

“My pleasure, sweetheart. It was nice to get out, have some fresh air,” he says. Andie stands up, holding Winston by the collar. 

“Should I put him inside for you, Cerule?” she asks.

“Yes, thank you, Andie. Trace, make sure the others don’t run out on us, please?” Cerulean says. Trace salutes her before following Andie to the door. As they go, Hannibal’s car pulls into the driveway. Cerulean squashes the urge to run into the house as well. Alana expects her to be outside, to thank everyone for helping…even Hannibal.

“Well, mission accomplished,” Beverly Katz says as Hannibal and Alana approach. “Who’s up for a celebratory dinner at my place?”

“That sounds great, actually,” Alana says, smiling in relief. “Cerulean, what do you think?”

“The guys and I have pizza night tonight. Sorry, Miss Katz,” Cerulean says. 

“Beverly. And no problem, I totally understand the importance of pizza night,” Beverly says. “Another time. Jimmy?”

“I’ll have to drag Zeller out of the lab first, but I think it sounds doable.”

“Dr. Lecter?” Beverly says. 

“I’m afraid I must decline as well. Thank you very much, though,” Hannibal says. “In fact, I should go now, I have to meet someone soon.”

“Thank you, Hannibal, for helping us find Winston,” Alana says. 

“Thank you, Dr. Lecter,” Cerulean echoes. Hannibal’s eyes linger on her as he speaks.

“You are very welcome. Anything I can do to be helpful,” he says. “I will see you all later.” He goes back to his car to leave. Trace and Andie return from the house, all dogs successfully inside.

“We heading out to pizza night?” Trace asks George and Cerulean. Cerulean glances at Alana, who nods.

“Call me when you’re on your way home.” Andie and Trace take Cerulean’s hands. Andie grabs George’s as well and they all go to the car, leaving the adults behind.


	4. Why Hello Again, Miss Ainsley Hayes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ainsley and Sam have Cerulean over for dinner. It goes not without a hitch, but surprisingly well.

“Sam, where are the cloth napkins?” Ainsley’s voice carries out of the kitchen into the bedroom of their apartment. Sam just got out of the shower and isn’t sure how he was supposed to know where the napkins are.

“They’re not in the bathroom, I can tell you that!” Ainsley appears in the doorway.

“I am trying to put together a nice dinner here, Sam.”

“And I appreciate that, but I really don’t know where the napkins are, Ainsley. I haven’t been home five minutes,” Sam replies.

“Well, start looking. After you take off that tie,” Ainsley says. Sam looks down.

“What’s wrong with my tie?”

“It’s ugly and it clashes with the table cloth.” Ainsley walks back out of the bedroom. Sam sighs. 

It wasn’t his idea to have Cerulean over for dinner. When he told Ainsley about the arrangement (excluding the whole ‘Dr. Lecter framed my dad’ part), she had insisted on inviting Cerulean over. And she wanted it to be formal. Sam loved her too much to dissuade her, but he hoped Cerulean didn’t mind. She hadn’t seemed put off by the idea, just…surprised.

Sam takes off his tie and goes into the dining room to find the cloth napkins. He and Ainsley never eat in the dining room. They haven’t in years. But Ainsley had gone in and cleaned everything when she got home from work. It looks as nice as it did when they’d first moved in. He goes to the dark brown bureau next to the matching china cabinet and opens the drawer. There is plenty of crap in this drawer, despite its disuse. Sam pushes things around for a few minutes before he finds something white and smooth. Curious, he picks it up.

He wishes he hadn’t.

The object in his hand is a bib. It’s white lined with yellow, with a small sun and yellow letters declaring the wearer a little ray of sunshine. Sam’s hand clenches around it and his eyes well up.

“Sam? Did you find the napkins?” Ainsley’s voice makes Sam’s hand unclench.

“Still looking!” he calls back, shoving the bib back into the drawer. He shuts the drawer and opens the next one to find the napkins, folded in a neat line. “Found them!” 

“Oh, thank the Lord! She’s going to be here any minute! Quick, put them at the place settings!” Ainsley breezes in with freshly polished silverware. Sam sets three napkins at the three place settings and Ainsley puts out the silverware. At the last place setting, Sam takes Ainsley by the waist and pulls her in for a kiss. 

“Hmm, what was that for?” she asks when they pull apart.

“For doing all this. You didn’t have to,” Sam says. Ainsley reaches up and fixes his collar. 

“I know. But I remember Cerulean. I liked her very much and I wanted to make her feel special. Welcome, even,” she says. “And it was good to clean out the dining room.” The buzzer goes off and Ainsley jumps back. “Oh, that’s her! You should go get her, she knows what you look like.”

“Ainsley, you look almost exactly the same as you did then.”

“Almost?” Ainsley arches an eyebrow. Sam laughs.

“Yes, almost and you know it. I’m going to go get Cerulean.”

*

Cerulean tries not to bite her lip and smudge her lipstick. 

Sam looks perfect, as usual. He wears the kind of suit he’d wear to work, excluding the tie. His hair is damp, so he showered when he got home. Is his job that stressful or is he just a neat freak? His office was pretty neat and she remembers his shirts had SNS monogrammed on them. Probably a little bit of a neat freak.

When Cerulean walks into the apartment, it is very clean. A second glance shows that much of the furniture is regularly unused and it has been dusted recently, if the small piles in the corners and on the edges of end tables are to be believed. There’s a scented candle burning, cinnamon and something that’s supposed to resemble foliage. It’s nice. 

Ainsley comes into the room and the urge to bite lip is even stronger. Cerulean is completely aware of the fact that Ainsley is old enough to be her mother, but that doesn’t seem to stop her brain from going ‘yowza.’ Ainsley is gorgeous. Her red dress, while not suitable for the partying scene, still highlights all her curves and her long blonde hair swishes gracefully when she walks. Cerulean is gayer than Mardi Gras, but she’s pretty sure that Ainsley would not be out of place in the category ‘all the girls go gay for her’ alongside Beyoncé and Lucy Liu.

“Hello, Cerulean. Good to see you again,” Ainsley says as Cerulean regains brain function.

“Hi, Ainsley,” Cerulean says. “Thank you for inviting me-”

“My pleasure, dear.” Ainsley walks over and hugs Cerulean. Cerulean is not prepared for that and does her best to reciprocate. Hugs are for Andie, occasionally Dad when he remembers that human beings show fondness through touch. They are not usually with beautiful women you met once when you were five.

“Now, dinner’s all set. Come on into the dining room,” Ainsley says, pulling away. She takes Cerulean by the wrist and leads her into the dining room. Boy, does that room have a lot to say.

The dining room is filled with dark furniture older than most Baby Boomers, almost certainly heirlooms from one set of parents or the other. The smell of wood polish is faint under the candle but it’s still there. Cerulean can nearly see the cleaning Ainsley must have done this afternoon, getting rid of what must have been layers and layers of dust from the lingering polish smell.   
Why, Cerulean has to wonder, was this room so much dustier than the living room? Sure, there was more use to the living room, but for the scent to still be there, it must not get used ever. Why not? Even Cerulean and Will, who are practically hillbillies compared to the Seaborns, use their dining room for the holidays.

Whatever the reason, the table is set for three. It’s set like they’re dining with the Queen, Cerulean feels. She is reminded for a moment of the few times she’s dined at Hannibal’s house, but this is much warmer and smaller.

Ainsley sits Cerulean down at the head of the table. Sam sits on Cerulean’s right and Ainsley sits on her left. There are two glasses in front of Cerulean, one water and one a light wine. The silverware is actual silver, Cerulean notes, and the plates are china from the large cabinet behind Ainsley. They went all out for this, or at least Ainsley did. Sam looks mildly uncomfortable. 

“Ainsley, she’s not old enough to drink,” he says. 

“One glass at dinner with us won’t kill her,” Ainsley says. “She’s not driving, is she?”

“No, I don’t have my license,” Cerulean says. “My, uh, my aunt said she can pick me up whenever I’m ready.”

“Oh, I was going to offer to drive you,” Sam says. “Unless you’re uncomfortable with that.”

“I think that’ll be fine,” Cerulean says. “Thank you.”

“So, Cerulean,” Ainsley says, taking the main dish and starting to serve Cerulean. “I know it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other. What adventures have you been on lately?”

“Mostly collecting stray dogs,” Cerulean says. A raise of perfectly groomed eyebrows prompts her to elaborate. “My dad really likes dogs, and he brings home the ones he finds that don’t have collars and stuff. We have enough to make a pack now, I think.”

“How many do you have?” Ainsley asks, passing the serving plate to Sam. 

“Ten.” The serving plate almost falls out of Sam’s hands and Ainsley’s mouth drops. Cerulean smiles. “We live out in the middle of nowhere, so there’s plenty of room. And the house is big too.”

“Are you allowed to own ten dogs?” Sam says.

“I’m not aware of any laws against it,” Ainsley replies. “I hope you like dogs, Cerulean.”

“Yep. Dogs are awesome. When I was little, Dad told me that dogs chase away the monsters under the bed,” Cerulean says. But they don’t do much for the ones who pretend to be men, she thinks.

“That’s adorable,” Ainsley says. “And you still have the dogs, don’t you?”

“Yeah, we all moved in with my aunt Alana. She’s not actually my aunt, just a good friend of my dad’s,” Cerulean says. Ainsley nods. She doesn’t have that look on her face that everyone else does when Will is mentioned, the ‘I’m sorry all your fond family memories now involve a serial killer’ look.

“We do that with our friends’ kids. You remember Josh and Donna?” Sam says.

“Josh was the one who read Harry Potter with me, and Donna taught me the secrets of the sisterhood,” Cerulean recalls.

“Sisterhood?” Sam repeats.

“It’s a secret sisterhood, Sam, she can’t say much.” Ainsley winks at Cerulean, who thinks Mrs. Seaborn might just be cooler than Mr.

*

Dinner was lovely. Sam’s apprehensions were thankfully disproved. Cerulean might have been uncomfortable at the start, but Ainsley drew her out of it easily. Cerulean did have a sip of wine, but the look on her face after that was hilarious. Sam and Ainsley did their best not to laugh too hard, but Cerulean exaggerated the expression and they lost the battle. 

After dessert, Cerulean texts Alana and says goodbye to Ainsley. Then she and Sam head downstairs to Sam’s car.

“You had a good time, right? You’re not just faking it for my sake?” Sam asks. Cerulean wobbles slightly in her low heels and Sam holds out an arm. She takes it.

“I did have a good time. Yeah, the fancy dress is a little out of my comfort zone, as you can tell by my high-heel prowess.”

“You mean the lack thereof?” Sam says. 

“Exactly,” Cerulean says. “But you guys are cool. I didn’t feel like I had to be all Pride and Prejudice at the table.”

“Where do you feel like you have to be a Jane Austen character?” Sam says. 

“Hannibal’s table feels like a friggin five-star Parisian restaurant. I can’t even pronounce the names of the stuff he cooks,” Cerulean says. “What is amuse-bouche?”

“I have no idea. Is that food?” Sam says. Cerulean shrugs as they reach the car.

“Supposedly.” Sam opens the door for her. “Thank you.” Sam goes around to the other side and gets in. A thought occurs to him as he starts the car.

“Why don’t you know how to drive?” 

“It scares me,” Cerulean says. “So I don’t bug Dad about it and he forgets he has to teach me.”

“Why does it scare you?” Sam asks.

“There’s not enough control. You can’t stop other people from being morons,” Cerulean says. “And if you let your mind wander for a second, you could die. Or worse, kill somebody.”

“It’s not quite that drastic,” Sam says. “But if you’re not ready, I guess you should wait. Nervous driving isn’t good for anybody.”

“Right, exactly my thinking,” Cerulean says. “Alana tells me I should just buckle down and do it. But she also tells me Dr. Lecter’s a victim as much as we are, so…”

“So maybe her advice should be taken with a grain of salt,” Sam finishes. “You ready to tell me more of the story about him and your dad?”

“Sure. It starts after Dad gets back from Minnesota…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ainsley is not in on Hannibal being evil...yet.


	5. Full of Gall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cerulean's view of Amuse-Bouche. She encountered tabloid journalism and a serial killer. Somehow, she survived both.

The day after he got back from Minnesota, Will was tired but jumpy. If the dogs growled at anything, even each other, he reached for a gun that wasn’t there. Cerulean knew Hobbs was weighing on him. 

That afternoon, Will picked Cerulean up from school with a tight jaw and restless fingers. Cerulean got into the car and waited. It was five miles later that Will spoke.

“Alana and Jack want me to have a psychological evaluation. They think shooting Hobbs traumatized me,” he said.

“Well, it did,” Cerulean said. 

“That’s not the point.”

“What is, then?” Cerulean asked. Will sighed.

“Jack didn’t…he said he needed me for the Minnesota Shrike case. He never said anything about me doing this regularly,” he said. “But now everyone’s acting like I’m applying to be part of the BSU and I don’t know how to back out.”

“Claim parental responsibilities? You can’t keep doing this, Dad, it’ll mess you up. It messes up regular people and we’re not exactly regular,” Cerulean said.

“I know. God knows what’ll happen to you if I start bringing this stuff home instead of term papers,” Will said. “But Jack’s not going to let me go that easily. He’ll give me that whole speech on saving lives and making a difference and shit like that.”

“So fail the evaluation,” Cerulean said. “You know what they look for.”

“That would work with most psychiatrists. My eval is with Dr. Lecter,” Will said.

“The breakfast scramble guy who told Crawford you’re a teacup?” Cerulean asked.

“The very same. If I can bullshit him, I think I could win the worldwide poker tournament too,” Will said, smiling slightly. Cerulean wasn’t sure if that meant he thought he could bullshit Lecter or if the idea was impossible.

God, she hoped it was the former.

*

“He what?” Cerulean shouted. Several dogs whined in displeasure as Will shrugged.

“He rubber-stamped me,” he said, setting plates on the table. “I got Chinese.”

“Chinese does not make up for the fact that you’re going back into the field!” Cerulean said. “You promised!” Will winced.

“I know. But sometimes we have to break promises and do what has to be done,” he said. “I’m not having this discussion. We each make our own decisions and I’ve made this one. You don’t have to like it, but you do have to deal with it. Now help me set the table.” Cerulean scowled but went to the cutlery drawer. She knew she couldn’t persuade her dad to change his mind- ‘we’re not having this discussion’ meant any discussion would be pointless anyway. Cerulean wondered what Dr. Lecter could have possibly said to change Will’s mind from their earlier agreement.

*

Things calmed down for about three days, three days free of serial killers and psychiatrists. Then Cerulean went to pizza night and all her friends looked annoyed.

“What? What’s going on?” she asked. They were all at Press’ place. Press had the biggest house, because his parents were loaded and liked to buy extravagant shit. They all gathered in the basement, which was larger than George’s entire house, and together they bought four pies every Thursday night to have dinner together.

“You know TattleCrime?” Dan said, sitting in the loveseat next to his girlfriend Cam. Cerulean took a seat on the couch between Andie and Trace.

“Isn’t that the tabloid website?”

“Yeah. Your dad’s on it,” Press said. He held out his tablet to her from his spot on the floor. Cerulean saw the headline 'It Takes One To Know One' and a picture of Will at a new crime scene.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she muttered. 

“No, that is legit libel, my friend,” Cam said. “Freddie Lounds called your dad insane. I think you can sue her ass.”

“This is such bullshit, I can’t even…” Cerulean shook her head and handed the tablet back to Press. “How can anyone have the gall to write this drivel?”

“If it takes gall to write this, Lounds needs her gallbladder taken out,” Press said. “Personally, I think she’s full of shit.”

“Does that mean she needs her colon removed?” Trace asked. 

*

When George drove Cerulean home that night, Will wasn’t there. George therefore stayed with Cerulean until Will got home. George was by no means under the impression that Cerulean could not take care of herself, but the worry that something might go wrong was more than he could handle.

Will didn’t take long, perhaps fifteen minutes after Cerulean and George arrived. He was a little out of it and waved briefly to George before heading to the kitchen. George looked at Cerulean.

“Is he okay?” he asked in a low voice. Cerulean shrugged.

“He spent all day in the head of serial killers. That takes a lot of a person.”

“Right. I’ll see you tomorrow.” George kissed Cerulean on the cheek and left. Cerulean watched him go, then went into the kitchen. Will was pouring himself whiskey.

“I’d offer you some but you have school in the morning,” Will said. “Trace seemed worried.”

“That was George, Dad. Which you might have noticed if you’d looked up,” Cerulean said. Will nodded. He picked up the glass and took a sip. “You okay?”

“I just came from Dr. Lecter’s office,” Will said.

“I thought he rubber-stamped you.”

“He did, but I need…some perspective to keep me grounded,” Will said, eyes on his glass instead of his daughter. “Dr. Lecter is versed enough in forensic psychology to help and pull me back from the dark stuff.”

“Right,” Cerulean said. “Whatever gets you through this. You know what I think.” Will swallowed some more whiskey.

“Yes, you think I can’t do this.”

“No, I think you shouldn’t do this. I could do this, but would you let me?” Cerulean replied. 

“That’s not the same. You’re seventeen. I’m not.” Will downed the rest of his glass. “You didn’t happen to see that Freddie Lounds article, did you?”

“We all did. We decided she’s full of it,” Cerulean said.

“Full of what?”

“Gall. She needs her gallbladder out.” Will chuckled. 

“I’ll have to remember that. Keeping in that in mind will help me not insult her too badly,” he said. “She lied her way onto that crime scene, you know.”

“Are you kidding me?” Cerulean said. “Can you arrest her for that?”

“Unfortunately not. She only got close, she didn’t actually touch anything,” Will said. “We might be able to get her for the Hobbs scene, though. I found a red curly hair there. I asked Beverly to match it for me before we figured out all the victims were diabetic.”

“What significance does that have?”

“He’s using them to grow mushrooms.”

“Why?” Cerulean asked. Will shrugged.

“Dr. Lecter theorizes that he’s seeking the connection of human minds. Fungi can connect in a way people can’t.”

“That’s…more illogical than you usually deal with,” Cerulean said. 

“Yes, but easy to catch. He has to have access to their medication, so we can just track that,” Will said. “When Jack gets a hit on that-” His phone went off as he spoke. Will and Cerulean exchanged looks before Will pulled the phone out. 

“Hello?” Will paused as Crawford’s voice resonated in the speakers. “Fine. But I want to leave Cerulean at the building. Just in case.” Crawford’s response was short and he hung up. Will looked at Cerulean.

“They found him. You’re coming with me to the building,” he said, setting the glass down. “Come on, grab a book or something.”

*

Cerulean waited at the BSU for three hours. She stayed in the break room next to the labs, where they left her coffee and muffins. The actual agents were pretty nice in the five minutes Cerulean saw them. Beverly Katz showed her where the bathroom was, Jimmy Price brought out the muffins and Brian Zeller did a quick run-through of how to work the coffee machine. Then they all ran out to go catch the serial killer. 

It didn’t go well.

They all came back with disgruntled looks and exasperated sighs. Zeller went straight for the coffee maker. Will wasn’t with them.

“I’m guessing things didn’t go well,” Cerulean said. 

“Oh, look, she’s a genius too!” Zeller grumbled. “Maybe Jack’ll hire her next!”

“Shut up, Zeller. It’s not her fault our guy reads Lounds,” Beverly said. 

“He got away, sweetheart. We’ll get him though, it’ll just take a little more time,” Jimmy said. “Your dad’s in with Agent Crawford. They’ll be out soon. How’s your book going?”

“It’s misogynistic and nothing makes sense,” Cerulean reported. “But it’s Hemingway, so I didn’t expect any better.” Beverly broke out into laughter that quickly became hysterical, causing her to lean against the chair and bend over. Cerulean could suddenly feel how tired and stressed Beverly was, from the way the not-that-funny remark about Ernest Hemingway drove her to laugh so hard. 

“What the hell is going on?” Crawford’s voice broke into Beverly’s laughter, making Cerulean jump. Beverly wiped at her eyes.

“Sorry, just... Hemingway!” Crawford raised an eyebrow at Cerulean.

“I hope your wit hasn’t been too sharpened by coffee. It’s still a school night,” he said.

“I just told it like it is,” Cerulean replied.

“Apparently, Beverly just hates Hemingway,” Jimmy said. 

“I never cared for him either,” Crawford said. “But we’d better get you home so you can give your opinions as well as you can tomorrow. Your dad has something he’s finishing up, but I said I’d walk you down to the car and he could meet you there.”

“Fine. Thanks for everything, guys.” Cerulean grabbed her book and swept the last crumbs of her muffin into the trash. She walked over to Crawford, who put a hand on her shoulder and led her away. Cerulean waited until they were far enough down the hall for the others not to hear before she spoke.

“Did Dad tell you what I said when he told me he was going to keep working for you?”

“No,” Crawford said slowly. “But I got the gist it wasn’t positive.”

“It really wasn’t,” Cerulean confirmed. “You know this is bad for him.”

“It’s not good for anyone, you know.”

“He’s the only family I have, you know. And I don’t feel like getting a new Dad again,” Cerulean said. Crawford nodded.

“I understand your concern. My wife’s the same way with me,” he said. “I promise you, I’m doing everything I can to keep him safe. Physically and mentally. He’s seeing Dr. Lecter- unofficially- about what happened with Hobbs.”

“And who’s Dr. Lecter seeing?” Cerulean asked. “He can’t exactly be unaffected by Hobbs.” Crawford chuckled.

“You are just like your dad. It’s amazing,” he said. “I’m sure Dr. Lecter is taking the proper steps to ensure his own mental health. He’s very good at what he does.”

“Yeah, okay. But I’m holding you accountable for whatever shit my Dad goes through,” Cerulean said. “And do something about Freddie Lounds, okay? She’s not allowed to write that crap about my Dad.”

“Oh, believe me, I am on that,” Crawford growled. “I’m thinking about throwing her in a holding cell for a night. That’ll teach her.” Cerulean laughed.

“Maybe there is something to like about you, Mr. Crawford.”

“I’m glad you think so, Miss Graham.”

*

Will came to pick Cerulean up from school the next day. His fingers drummed the wheel after they left the parking lot, jaw working as he drove away from the school. Cerulean waited about five minutes before speaking.

“So, are you going to tell me what you’re thinking or am I supposed to guess?” she asked. 

“Freddie Lounds,” Will said. “Her article allowed our guy to get away. He knew we were coming because he read it.”

“Is that what happened?” Cerulean vaguely recalls Beverly Katz mentioning before the Hemingway remark.

“Yeah. I’m just thinking…I didn’t read the article that thoroughly. I don’t know if she mentioned you,” Will said.

“Me? Why would I be in it?” Cerulean said. “I don’t have anything to do with the pursuit of serial killers.”

“I know. And we’re not biologically father and daughter, so bringing up the idea of my crazy being passed on is a bit of a stretch, but Lounds might have said something,” Will said. “And our guy read it.”

“And you think the Mushroom Guy might come after me now?” 

“The Mushroom Guy?”

“Yeah, the killer. Coz he grows all the mushrooms with his victims,” Cerulean said. Will shook his head.

“Don’t nickname serial killers. We have enough trouble with the media doing it,” he said. “But yes, I’m afraid he might target you. Or the next one might. It’s not unheard of, killers targeting family members of law enforcement.”

“Uh-huh.” Well, that was something Cerulean hadn’t thought of when Will decided he was going to keep chasing serial killers. Will didn’t seem to have considered it either.

“I’m not saying that you should start looking over your shoulder everywhere, just take the normal precautions and be aware,” Will said. “It’s unlikely anything will happen.” His hands tightened on the wheel as he said that. Cerulean nodded anyway. 

“Just don’t mention it to George or he’ll personally escort me everywhere. He gets so worried about everyone, especially when he knows they’re home alone.”

“Does he have anxiety or something?” Will asked.

“Maybe. I never asked,” Cerulean said. “I just figured it’s his thing. But I’ll be careful.”

“I’ll get you a Taser if you want,” Will said. Cerulean laughed.

“Awesome, I can take down Norse gods!”

“You are pretty similar to Darcy Lewis,” Will agreed, smiling slightly. “All right, we’re getting the Taser. You still have the Mace Alana got you?”

“Yeah, carry it everywhere. I almost used it the other day, but then I decided it wasn’t worth the detention,” Cerulean replied. 

“Who were you going to use it on?” Will asked.

“My science teacher. You know, the one who makes fun of kids to bolster his fragile self-esteem?”

“Ah. Yeah, don’t do it to him in school. Not worth it,” Will said. “I was going to go visit Abigail Hobbs today. Do you want to come?” Cerulean shrugged.

“Sure. Probably safer to stick with you.”

*

The hospital room was cold.

That was the first thing Cerulean noticed when she walked into Abigail’s room. Then she saw the comatose girl in the bed and she got chills of a different kind. 

Abigail Hobbs was a year older than Cerulean. She was several inches taller too, but had a sort of frail thinness to match her deathly pale skin. Cerulean was suddenly put in mind of Snow White. She wondered for a bemused half-second which dwarf she should be.

Cerulean walked to the chair beside Abigail’s bed and sat down slowly. She had never sat by someone’s bedside before; it was intimidating in a way she hadn’t expected.

“So, uh, hi. I’m Cerulean. I’m Will Graham’s kid. You know, the guy who…shot your dad. Wow, that was stupid.” Cerulean winced. “God, I hope you can’t hear me. Like, I don’t want you to be alone in your head, but that sucked and if you just heard a faint buzzing sound instead, I would feel better.” Abigail had no reply. Cerulean sighed.

“Yeah, when you wake up, I’ll probably have a better way of introducing myself. Or Dad will. He had to go take a phone call, but he’s with me,” she said. “Dad worries about you. He hates that this happened to you, and he’ll do what he can to make it better. I have to warn you though, he might take you fishing. He has a lot of faith in the restorative powers of nature.”

“So do I.” Cerulean turned to see a nurse was standing behind her. He was a tall white guy with eyes that bore into Abigail. He set off a warning bell in Cerulean’s head. 

“Um, hi. I didn’t hear you come in-” There was a flash of pain from the right side of Cerulean’s face just before everything went black.

*

When Cerulean regained consciousness, she smelled her dad’s aftershave. Then there was Alana’s perfume as Cerulean’s eyes opened. She was all for them staying closed, but they kept moving without her permission. 

Will and Alana stood in front of Cerulean, who appeared to be sitting on the couch in Abigail’s room. Will’s eyes were wide and Alana was biting her lip.

“What’s going on?” Cerulean said.

“The Mushroom Guy came after Abigail,” Will said. “He knocked you out and tried to take you both.”

“Is Abigail okay?” Cerulean asked. 

“She’s fine. You’ve got a mild concussion, though,” Alana said. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got hit by a truck. A really creepy truck,” Cerulean said, rubbing her sore cheek. “It was the guy in the nurse’s uniform, right?”

“Yeah. You saw him?” Will said.

“Uh-huh. Didn’t realize he was anything other than a garden-variety creep,” Cerulean said. “Did you get him?”

“Yes.” The curtness in Will’s voice told her how the Mushroom Guy was stopped. She nodded slowly.

“Can we go home? I need to be covered in dogs,” Cerulean said. A smile flickered across Will’s face.

“I think I can arrange that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it was weird the way no one addressed the fact that Will was only supposed to consult on the Shrike case and became a regular fixture in the BSU- they use Behavioral Science Unit in the show, not BAU for whatever reason- so I extrapolated a little.
> 
> This won't be the last time Will's work goes after Cerulean. It'll happen at least once more before Hannibal becomes an issue.


	6. Deja Vu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alana and Hannibal want Cerulean to see Will, though Alana seems to be distracted by some confusing new feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am a KaBloom shipper. Don't worry, it won't be all that prominent.

As they pull up to the house, Sam tries to process the story he’s just heard. True, this one had less to do with Dr. Lecter. Will deciding to be his unofficial patient was not a good sign. Frankly, it’s one of the stupidest things Sam’s ever heard, because legally, you can’t sue an unofficial psychiatrist for malpractice. But he recalls that the President ‘unofficially’ saw a therapist while in office for discretionary purposes, and Sam supposes an FBI profiler would have similar reasons. Also, it may have seemed fine if he wasn’t aware that Dr. Lecter is possibly evil.

“So, yeah, that was the Mushroom Guy story. Kinda off-topic, but interesting,” Cerulean says, pulling her hair back out of her face. The scar is thrown into sharp relief by the bright street lamp. “And Abigail’s more important later.”

“Your story-telling skills are fairly impressive. Can’t say I mind the tangent,” Sam says. The front door opens. “Time to go. I’ll call you after school on Tuesday.”

“Sounds good. Thank you for dinner. And uh, listening,” Cerulean says. “I appreciate it.” Dr. Bloom comes down the front walk and Cerulean opens the door. It then occurs to Sam that Abigail Hobbs is most likely dead, which he knew, but the fondness in Cerulean’s voice as she spoke of the girl makes the fact all the more sobering.

Cerulean gets out of the car. Dr. Bloom meets her on the walk and kisses her forehead. Then Dr. Bloom comes up to Sam’s car, leaning down to the window. Sam rolls down the window.

“Hey.”

“Hi. Thank you for driving her home,” Dr. Bloom says. “She’s been looking forward to tonight. Did it go well?”

“I think so. Cerulean and Ainsley got on pretty well,” Sam says. “She’s been okay for you?” Dr. Bloom nods.

“Still not talking much. School seems to be all right,” she says. “I wanted to ask-” Dr. Bloom turns to look behind her, but Cerulean is inside. Dr. Bloom turns back to Sam. “Do you think it’s a good idea to take her to see her dad?” Sam pauses. That is a big can of worms.

“I don’t see why not,” he replies finally. “Do you think it would be a problem?”

“With Will? No. I just don’t know how she’ll react to seeing him in the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane,” Dr. Bloom says. “I’m afraid it’ll be too much for her. Hannibal thinks she should be fine, but we’re not sure.”

“I think you should ask her. She’ll know better than I would,” Sam says. Dr. Bloom nods again. 

“You’re probably right. Good night, Mr. Seaborn.”

*

“Cerulean, what do you think of-”

Alana stops herself as Cerulean looks up at her. It’s the morning after Cerulean’s dinner with the Seaborns. Alana had been bringing over a bowl of cereal to eat at the table with Cerulean, but sudden eye contact brings back all the doubts Alana has about this. 

“What do I think of what? Cereal?” Cerulean says, wrinkling her nose. “It’s fine, I guess, as long as you don’t go for the tasteless bran stuff.”

“That’s not what I was asking,” Alana says. 

“What were you asking, then?”

“I was going to ask you what you thought of…” Alana racks her brain for anything but the actual question. “Beverly. What do you think of Beverly?” Cerulean shrugs.

“She’s cool. I only hear good things,” she says. “Nice. Smart. Capable. Pretty.”

“You think she’s pretty?” Alana asks.

“Yeah. You don’t?”

“Well, I guess I’ve never given it much thought.” That, Alana realizes with some surprise, is not true. She has always known Beverly was attractive. Sometimes Alana would watch Beverly do the most mundane things to admire the way her hands moved or to hear the triumphant ‘gotcha’ that had made the phrase irreversibly associated with Beverly. Alana hadn’t recognized it at the time, being confused by her feelings for Will, but perhaps there is more to it than simply being aesthetically pleased by Beverly.

“Uh-oh,” Cerulean says, pulling Alana out of her thoughts. Alana sees a smile spread across the girl’s face.

“What? What’s the uh-oh?”

“You just made the ‘holy crap I’m into my friend’ face,” Cerulean says. Alana sets her cereal bowl down a little more forcefully than is recommended and milk splashes over the side.

“I did not. I was merely thinking over your question.” Alana’s cheek are starting to get hot as the lie leaves her lips. Cerulean’s smile stays firmly in place.

“It’s okay. Beverly’s gay for you too. She may just be gay in general-”

“Oh, so you’ve asked Beverly about her sexuality?” Alana interrupts, sitting down. “You can’t make assumptions.”

“I’m not making an assumption. I’m making a hypothesis based on the facts,” Cerulean replies. 

“And what facts are those?” Alana says. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. What would Cerulean know about Beverly being attracted to women?

“Well, she checks you out every time she sees you. She watches your mouth when you talk, and every time you two make eye contact, she smiles like a kid on Christmas,” Cerulean says. Alana fights her blush even harder. Cerulean could be wrong. She could be seeing things that weren’t there. And what does it matter? Alana’s in no position to be considering a relationship right now.

“That’s very interesting evidence, but I think I’m going to let it lie for now,” Alana says. Cerulean nods.

“I get that. But I wouldn’t wait too long if you really do like her,” she says, smile fading. “Life’s short. People don’t stick around forever.” Her gaze drops down to the bagel in front of her. Alana reaches over and takes Cerulean’s hand.

“I know. But all I need right now is you,” Alana says. There’s a bark and several dogs run into the room, attempting to climb on their laps. Alana and Cerulean push the dogs back down.

“I think this is them disagreeing on that last point,” Cerulean says. Alana laughs.

*

“No.”

“But Jack-”

“I said no, Dr. Bloom,” Jack repeats. Alana lets out a disgruntled sigh. She and Hannibal are sitting in Jack’s office, trying to talk Jack into letting them see Will. 

“Will tried to kill Dr. Lecter. He would have succeeded if we hadn’t figured out where they went in time,” Jack says. “I don’t want either of you near him until Chilton says he’s stable.”

“Chilton’s an idiot and you know it,” Alana replies. “Either of us would be a better judge of Will’s mental state than Chilton.” That’s unfortunately true. Frederick Chilton is not only an idiot, but he parades around like a peacock with his stupid ideas. Jack hates the fact that Will’s left to the man’s stupidity. There hadn’t been much choice after Will tried to kill Dr. Lecter.

“Jack,” Hannibal says, voice low enough to rumble slightly. “This isn’t about our personal desires to see Will, to see if he is healing.”

“Then what is it about?” Jack asks. Hannibal and Alana exchange a glance

“It’s about Cerulean,” Alana says. Jack pauses. He sits back in his chair, considering. 

“Cerulean,” he says finally. That is a big can of worms to accompany such a small person. Jack feels an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu- they’d played this scene before, only with Abigail Hobbs instead of Cerulean Graham.

“She and Will are very close, Jack. Being separated from him is hard on her,” Alana continues. “She wouldn’t speak to me for a week. She started talking to a man she hasn’t seen since she was five instead and if he wasn’t on the President’s Senior Staff, I’d have had a coronary. Cerulean seems to be coping, but I don’t know that she’s actually okay. Having her talk to Will would shed some light on the subject.”

“You realize he could try to hurt her too,” Jack says. “Will killed Abigail Hobbs because she was the daughter of the personality he was slipping in and out of. Who’s to say Cerulean wasn’t next on the list?” Alana’s eyes grow cold.

“Will would never-”

“We didn’t think Will would kill Abigail either,” Jack interrupts. “And how can you be sure that this will be good for her?”

“We can’t,” Hannibal says. He leans forward, hands coming up from his lap to help illustrate his next point. “Jack, I don’t know how much experience you’ve had with Cerulean, but she is an extremely guarded child. Neither Alana nor I can read her with accuracy. She is constantly surprising us in a way Will did not. Whether this is built up from being raised by someone who could look behind her walls with ease or because of an innate personality trait is hard to say, but the only way to find out what she is feeling is to coax her out. This might just be what we need to do to bring her out of her shell.”

“I’ve had some experience with Miss Graham,” Jack says. “And pushing her buttons has never ended well.”

“We’re not pushing her buttons. We’re trying to measure how well she’s dealing with her father being imprisoned,” Alana says. 

“Why don’t you ask the Senior Staffer she talks to?” Jack asks.

“Because Mr. Seaborn says that he doesn’t want to violate her privacy by telling me what Cerulean talks to him about,” Alana says. “Which I respect.”

“We need to make sure she’s all right, Jack,” Hannibal says. “We owe it to her and we owe it to Will.” Jack suppresses the urge to sigh.

“I’ll think about it,” he says. 

“Thank you,” Alana says. The door opens and they look up to see Beverly walk in. 

“Jack, we have a development down- oh, hey, guys.” Beverly stops when she sees Alana, switching gears in an instant. “Are you guys working on the Stevens case too?”

“No, though I would be happy to assist if you need me,” Hannibal says. Alana is looking at Beverly like she’s never seen the woman before. 

“I think we’re finished here,” Jack says, not mentioning but taking careful note of Alana’s reaction. “Beverly, should I be coming downstairs?”

“Um, yeah, probably. I can show Dr. Bloom and Dr. Lecter out if you want,” Beverly offers. She smiles at Alana and Jack knows exactly what’s going on. 

“I’m sure they can find their way out by themselves. I’ll call you when I’ve made my decision, Dr. Bloom,” he says. Alana’s gaze falters and she blinks as she turns back to Jack.

“Oh, um, thank you, Jack.” Hannibal’s brow furrows for a moment, but it disappears as he and Alana stand to leave. Beverly steps aside to let them go. Alana looks over her shoulder as she follows Hannibal out. Beverly has a dreamy smile on her face even after the two psychiatrists are gone.

“So,” Jack says, standing. “You and Dr. Bloom?” Beverly’s smile drops.

“What about me and Alana?”

“Nothing. Just noticing the way you two look at each other,” Jack says. He comes around his desk to stand beside her.

“We don’t look at each other- okay maybe I look at her a certain way, but she certainly doesn’t look at me. Not like that,” Beverly says. 

“You sure about that?” 

“Totally sure. Alana likes- she really liked Will,” Beverly says. “I’m not him, in case you haven’t noticed. Not even close.”

“I’m aware of that. Glad for that, actually,” Jack says. “But I think Alana could use someone who’s not Will.” Beverly shakes her head. 

“It’s not gonna happen, Jack. But I’ll tell you something that will happen- Zeller is gonna owe me twenty bucks after you see what Jimmy found on the last victim’s feet.”


	7. Souffles and Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grahams get to hear Alana and Hannibal's proposal and Cerulean has to walk a very fine line.

He’s starting to miss the hospital. 

Technically, this is the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, but the bars sort of take away from the general hospital idea. Will spends much of his time in a small cell as opposed to a small room, and when he’s not in the cell, he’s in an interrogation room with Jack or a ‘therapy session’ with Chilton. It’s like his own personal Purgatory wrapped up in one huge nightmare. 

As Will is musing on the differences between this modern asylum and the actual hospital, guards come up to the bars of his cell. He sits up on his pitiful excuse of a mattress.

“Stand up,” one orders. “Walk to the bars and face the far wall.” Will does as he’s told, putting his hands behind his back. The guards handcuff him around one bar before they open the door and enter the cell. They uncuff him and bring his hands around to the front to recuff him. It’s a tedious ritual that probably deters actual criminals. 

Will is led down the hall to the interrogation room. His cuffs are attached to the small metal half-circle in the table. Will sits back in the chair, waiting for Chilton. The door opens. Will looks up at the sound to see Alana and Hannibal walk in. He straightens in his chair. Well, that was unexpected.

Hannibal puts a hand on the chair across from Will and pulls it out for Alana. She murmurs a thank you as she sits. Hannibal then takes a chair from the corner and brings it to sit beside Alana. Both look at Will at the same time. Will returns their gaze, silently cursing Chilton. The man would have them come into the interrogation room, have him expect the idiot instead. 

“This is a surprise,” Will says. “Is Chilton changing his methods?”

“Chilton doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Alana says. “We’re here to talk to you about Cerulean.” Will’s knee-jerk reaction is that he doesn’t want Hannibal anywhere near Cerulean. But he pauses, giving himself time to quash that. 

“Is she doing okay?” Will asks. He hasn’t seen her since he was arrested. The last memory he has of her is the fearful look in her eyes as she watched him go into the police car, Hannibal standing far too close.

“She’s adjusting,” Alana says. “She wouldn’t talk to us for a while-” No shit, Will thinks, she knows I’ve been framed and by whom. “-but she started to right before she went back to school last week.”

“How has that been?” Will says.

“Her friends are very protective. I understand she has escorts to class,” Alana says. Will can’t help the slight smirk on his face. Cerulean has always chosen her friends very carefully.

“As well as she is doing, we do have take into account that she misses you, Will,” Hannibal says. Will’s smirk drops. “You are still her father, despite everything that has happened.”

“Hannibal and I have talked it over, and we think Cerulean should come see you,” Alana continues, hands clasping together tightly. 

“Have you talked to Cerulean about this?” Will says. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see her- he misses Cerulean more than he’s missed anything in his whole life, but he fears what seeing him like this could do to her. 

“Not yet,” Alana admits. “We wanted to talk to you first.” I’ll bet. Will can feel Hannibal’s eyes on him, trying to peer into his head and see the weakness inside. Will wonders with a sick feeling if Hannibal’s been prying at Cerulean’s head too.

“The person who can tell you best is Cerulean. She knows her own mind. Suppose one of us has to,” Will says. 

“I believe Mr. Seaborn said something to that effect,” Hannibal says, turning to Alana. Will frowns.

“Who the hell is Mr. Seaborn?” he says. The momentary triumph that flitters across Hannibal’s face sets Will’s teeth even more on edge. 

“Sam Seaborn,” Alana says. “Before you adopted Cerulean, she knew him. She reached out to him before going back to school, and talking to him seems to have helped her tremendously.” Will vaguely recalls a ‘Mr. Sam’ in his early conversations with Cerulean. But why would Cerulean go to him? 

“Have you met him?” Will asks. Alana nods.

“And his wife. They’re very nice. For lawyers.” She smiles weakly. “And they seem to be concerned for Cerulean’s well-being.”

“Oh, well, lawyers. Can’t have that kind of influence in her life,” Will replies. Alana chuckles slightly. “Next thing you know she’ll be talking about law school and objecting to curfew.”

“She has a curfew?” Alana says.

“No. She’s never out late,” Will shakes his head. “If she feels like it’s a good idea, then I’m fine with it. I trust her.”

“I think it bears mentioning that Cerulean is in a fragile state right now,” Hannibal says. “She may not be in a position to be making wise decisions.” Will shrugs.

“She has a pretty good history. And she doesn’t have encephalitis,” he says. Hannibal smirks slightly. 

“As far as we know, anyway.”

“Cerulean is fine,” Alana insists. “We’re all watching her carefully, Will. She’s not having any symptoms of encephalitis. She’s not having symptoms of anything, really, other than being very quiet.”

“She’s not exactly loud,” Will says. “You have to ask Cerulean. I can’t tell you what she’s thinking from here.” 

“Do you want to see her, Will?” Hannibal asks. 

“Yes,” Will says. He supposes answering quickly could reflect badly- after all, they think he killed Abigail. It wouldn’t be a huge leap to think he might hurt Cerulean if you believed that. But anyone who could think he would hurt Cerulean clearly didn’t know him. 

*

Hannibal arrives after dinner- he is fairly certain Cerulean will refuse an invitation to his table. Hannibal instead brings a dessert to Alana’s house. Alana is expecting him and meets him at the door. 

“You’re late,” she says.

“Soufflés are tricky things, especially the chocolate ones,” Hannibal replies, coming into the foyer. Alana smiles as Hannibal is surrounded by Will’s pack of strays. They sniff him and whine when they realize he has no sausage for them this time.

“Dessert’s an acceptable excuse. She’s doing homework in the kitchen, come on.” Alana turns to the kitchen. Hannibal pushes his way through the dogs. The smallest one runs ahead, yapping.

“What’s going on, Buster boy?” Cerulean’s question coincides with Hannibal and Alana entering the kitchen. Cerulean looks up from petting the dog. Her face fades from concern into neutral. 

“Hello, Dr. Lecter,” Cerulean says. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Good evening, Cerulean. I happened to be in an adventurous mood and tried my hand at a new recipe. Unfortunately, I cannot eat a soufflé by myself,” Hannibal says. He sets the covered dish on the table beside Cerulean’s textbooks- Psychology and Trigonometry, how boring. Cerulean watches him uncover the soufflé, pen and dog forgotten. Alana brings over some plates and utensils. 

“What a pleasant surprise,” Cerulean says, tone light but not exactly pleased. Hannibal looks over at her as he sits down.

“I hope I have not interrupted you at a crucial point in your studies. Your schoolwork is important.”

“No, the frustrating stuff is finished, I just have the laughably easy part left,” Cerulean says. “But I don’t think Alana is all that surprised.” Alana winces. 

“We may have prearranged this,” she admits, to Hannibal’s annoyance. He begins to spoon the soufflé onto the plates.

“We wanted to speak to you about something. I decided having a dessert would make it more enjoyable,” Hannibal says. He places the first plate in front of Cerulean. Alana takes a seat opposite Cerulean, with Hannibal between them. 

“I see. What do you guys want to talk about?” Cerulean accepts the spoon Hannibal gives her.

“Jack Crawford said your dad is allowed to have visitors now,” Alana says. Cerulean pauses, spoon halfway to the soufflé.

“Oh.”

“Would you like to go see him?” Hannibal asks. 

“Of course,” Cerulean says. “I haven’t seen him in weeks.”

“You realize that this may be a disturbing reunion rather than a comfortable one?” Hannibal says. Alana gives him a reproachful look, but he ignores her in favor of watching Cerulean. The girl is slowly tasting the soufflé. 

“This is delicious.”

“Cerulean,” he says. Her eyes flash up to meet his before he can continue.

“I am perfectly aware of the fact that my dad is imprisoned, Dr. Lecter. I know that he’s going to be behind bars or cuffed when I see him. I still want to see him,” Cerulean says in a clipped, barely level voice. How very unlike Will- Will cannot control his tone when he is upset. Cerulean seems to expend more effort to be controlled the more upset she is. 

“We know that you want to see him, Cerulean, but it may not be good for you just yet,” Alana says, attempting to intervene. “I want you to think this over carefully-”

“I have been thinking this over. You were going to bring this up sooner or later.” Cerulean stabs the soufflé with her spoon, glaring at Hannibal’s handkerchief.

“Are you angry with me, Cerulean?” Hannibal asks. His voice betrays no sign of the fierce curiosity he feels regarding this child.

“Well, you were Dad’s psychiatrist. If anyone could have seen this coming, it would have been you,” Cerulean replies. Hannibal nods. Not an unexpected explanation, far less…troubling than if she believed Will’s accusations.

“If it is any comfort, you cannot possibly blame me more than I blame myself,” Hannibal says. “I am afraid my friendship with your dad prevented me from seeing what was happening.”

“Now that’s not fair, Hannibal. You can’t blame yourself and no one else should,” Alana says. She gives Cerulean a pointed look, which the girl ignores. 

“Sometimes we need someone to blame,” Hannibal says. “I would rather Cerulean blame me than herself. Or you.” Cerulean glances up at his face and he sees something in her eyes that makes him wonder how much she blames him for. Perhaps his earlier assessment of her thinking was mistaken. It is then Hannibal realizes that if she lies to him- which he knows she has on prior occasions- he cannot tell. Hannibal takes his first taste of the soufflé, deciding he will continue watching Cerulean Graham very carefully.

*

Sam and Cerulean meet for lunch in a diner near the office. That hadn’t been the plan, but Sam had a sudden cancellation on his way to a lunch meeting. He called Cerulean and she said she’d be there.

Sam arrives first, getting a booth by the window. He orders water for them both and watches the passerby for a few minutes. A large purple van pulls up by the diner, its color grabbing focus better than a needy actor. Cerulean climbs down from the passenger side, blowing a kiss to the driver. She spots Sam and waves. He waves back, chuckling. Cerulean comes into the diner and sits across from Sam. 

“Hey.”

“Hey. Who’s driving the Volkswagen?” Sam asks. 

“My friend Andie. She loves purple,” Cerulean says, picking up the menu. “Have you ever been here before?”

“A few times. Stay away from the fish, but other than that, everything’s good,” Sam says. “How’s life?” Cerulean sighs.

“Complicated. What else is new?” she says. “Hannibal brought over dessert last night.”

“And how did that go?” 

“It was pretext to ask me what I thought about visiting Dad,” Cerulean says. She sets down the menu and looks Sam in the eye. “You know, Dad never pulled shit like that with me. If he had something to say, he just said it. None of this ‘softening the blow’ nonsense.”

“That never works it out, does it?” Sam says. “Did it get any better?”

“It was very kid-glove and they kept reminding me it may not be good for me,’” Cerulean says. “And Hannibal watched me like a hawk the whole time.”

“Was the dessert any good?”

“Asking the important questions. Yes, it was. The creep can bake,” Cerulean answers. “You haven’t asked me what I said to their proposition.”

“I figured you’d get there,” Sam says. A waitress appears in front of their table. 

“You two ready to order?” 

“I’ll have the chicken salad sandwich,” Sam says.

“And I’ll have the roast beef, hold the coleslaw,” Cerulean says. They hand over their menus and the waitress vanishes again.

“I said yes,” Cerulean says. “I know it wasn’t him and I want to see him.” She pauses, looking at her fingernails as if they held the secrets of life.

“But?” Sam prompts.

“But seeing him behind bars is gonna suck,” Cerulean finishes. “It’s going to really, really suck.”

“Yeah. It probably will,” Sam agrees. 

“I mean, it can’t be as bad as when they brought Abigail back to Minnesota,” Cerulean says, shrugging. “I’m pretty sure no one’s gonna get murdered in a federal facility but you never know.”

“Well, if they do, I’m never gonna hear the end of it,” Sam says. “What happened with Abigail anyway? Last you left off she was in a coma.”

“Hmm. Let’s see,” Cerulean says. “Abigail wakes up a few days after the Mushroom Creep got locked up…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Souffles are fairly surprising by themselves. Would not have guessed that they were served/eaten with spoons.


	8. Blossoms and Pretty Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cerulean in Potage. She meets Abigail for the first time at Alana's suggestion, starting what will prove ti be an interesting relationship. Drama at school coincides with drama in Minnesota

Cerulean woke up to hear two quiet voices in the kitchen. She rubbed at her eyes as she sat up. Buster climbed up onto her bed, eagerly butting her side.

“Not now.” Cerulean scrabbled for a hairtie on her nightstand and pulled her wild curls into a ponytail. Then she was ready to walk out into the kitchen without scarring whoever was talking to Dad.

“…and I do think you should see her, I want it to be on your terms,” Alana was saying as Cerulean entered. She didn’t notice Cerulean and kept talking as the girl began pulling together breakfast. “I want you to get what you need. I want Abigail to get what she needs. What Jack needs, I’m not so concerned about.” Cerulean looked over and saw Will smiling.

“I don’t want to get in the middle of you and Jack,” Alana said. “But if I can act as a buffer-”

“I like you as a buffer,” Will said. “I also like the way you rattle Jack. He respects you too much to yell at you, no matter how much he wants to.” 

“And I take advantage of that,” Alana said. Cerulean muffled her snicker unsuccessfully and both adults turn to her.

“Abigail Hobbs woke up,” Will said. 

“And Crawford wants you to talk to her why?” Cerulean asked. 

“You two don’t really do ‘good morning,’ do you?” Alana said. 

“Only when one of us is sick. But Jack thinks Abigail might know something about the murders,” Will said. 

“And he wants you to ask her? That sounds like a terrible plan.” Cerulean brought her bowl of cereal to the table, sitting across from Will. “If someone killed you, Dad, the last person I would talk to is the guy who did it.”

“Abigail Hobbs isn’t you,” Will replied. “For one thing, she’s not nearly as suspicious as you are. I don’t think anyone is.” Cerulean shrugged.

“Nearly getting murdered by your father will do that to you. So maybe she will be now.” She turned to Alana. “So if Dad doesn’t talk to her, who does?”

“We’ll have to talk to Jack, but I think it should be me,” Alana said. “Your dad can talk to her later.”

“Abigail Hobbs doesn’t have anyone,” Will said.

“You can’t be her everyone,” Alana replied. “Don’t have to draw a line, but you might want to know where your line is.”

“Keeping my distance,” Will said. Alana paused, glancing at Buster trying to jump onto Cerulean’s lap.

“When I said what I was going to say in my head, it sounded insulting. I’ll find another way to say it,” she said, looking back at Will. Will gestured for her to go on.

“Say it the insulting way.”

“Dogs keep a promise a person can’t,” Alana said. Cerulean raised an eyebrow. Will did look mildly insulted. 

“I’m not collecting another stray.”

“The first person Abigail talks to about what happened can’t be anyone who was there,” Alana said, voice even. “That means no Dr. Lecter either.”

“Much less the guy who killed Dad,” Will said. 

“Yeah, that wouldn’t go well,” Cerulean said. 

“You’re not a psychiatrist,” Will said. 

“Neither are you.”

“Let me reach out to her in my own way, guys,” Alana said, putting a hand on each of their fists. Cerulean and Will exchanged looks. Cerulean went back to her cereal with her free hand.

“If I were Abigail,” she said, carefully spooning up Cheerios. “I would be very careful how I behaved from this point on. Especially if I did know something. I wouldn’t trust anyone.”

“Let’s hope Abigail isn’t like you,” Will said. “That would make things much more difficult for all of us.”

*

Cerulean was working on an essay that afternoon when the dogs converged on the door. She was already halfway there when the knock came. Upon opening the door, Cerulean found Alana. The woman was biting her lip.

“Hi, Cerulean,” she said. “Could we talk?”

“Sure.” Cerulean stepped aside to let Alana in. “You don’t mind if I keep working on my essay, do you? It’s due tomorrow.”

“Oh, of course not. If you need to focus-”

“I focus just fine while I talk. What’s going on?” Cerulean sat at the desk. Alana allowed the dogs to sniff her thoroughly before taking a seat on the couch.

“It’s Abigail,” Alana said. “I think the two of you have a lot in common.” Cerulean shrugged.

“Yeah, I suppose. My father probably killed my mother, and he tried to kill me. Only mine’s in prison instead of in a crime lab, decomposing,” she said. “She do what I said I would?”

“Yes, which is mildly disturbing to see,” Alana said. “She was very practical.”

“Practical is good. Doesn’t get you the more annoying responses,” Cerulean said. “Whenever people see my scar, they gasp and that kind of thing. I just tell em it lets me know when it’s going to rain, or that Voldemort is near.”

“Abigail also only shows enough emotion to prove she has it,” Alana said. 

“You wouldn’t?” Cerulean replied. “If you’re too emotional, you get treated like a child. If you’re not emotional enough, you’re a monster.”

“I suppose,” Alana said. Cerulean glanced up from her paper to look at Alana, who was staring at her.

“I’m pretty sure I’m not a sociopath, by the way. Dad might have noticed by now,” Cerulean offered.

“No, I was just thinking that you seem to have a better insight into Abigail than the rest of us,” Alana said. “We keep guessing and wondering- maybe we should just ask you.” Cerulean laughed.

“Yeah, Dad would love that,” she said. “I don’t know that much about Abigail. I just know what I would do. I could start being wrong as soon as the whole mom thing comes into play, or just because I don’t know her.”

“You’re right. It’s probably just that you’re a smart girl her age who’s given this some thought,” Alana said. “Still, it might not be a bad idea for you to meet her. She could do with a friend right now.”

“I hope you realize I collect strays,” Cerulean said. Alana raised an eyebrow. “Not just in the literal sense. My friends are all strays in their own way. Dad says I have a ‘mothering’ people thing. Which is weird, since I never knew mine…”

“You parented your dad a lot,” Alana said. “And you don’t have the same emotional issues with this that Will does.”

“I’m glad to know I have your vote of confidence,” Cerulean said. “What are you going to tell Crawford?”

“Who says I was going to?”

*

They didn’t tell Will either. They didn’t tell anyone that Alana picked Cerulean up from school the next day and brought her to the psychiatric care facility instead of the Graham house. Will had already come and gone from the place, or so the frustrated texts about Freddie Lounds would indicate.

Alana got Cerulean into the building and sent her upstairs alone. They had decided it would be best if she was alone with Abigail, so the girl might feel less threatened. Cerulean had told Alana she wouldn’t repeat anything she heard unless it directly had to do with finding bodies. Alana agreed that was also better for everyone and another reason they weren’t telling Jack Crawford.

Cerulean knocked on the blue door. A soft voice told her she could enter. Cerulean pushed the door open. She saw Abigail hurriedly tying a scarf around her neck. When Abigail’s blue eyes met hers, the taller girl frowned.

“Are you lost?” she asked, voice blunt. Cerulean shook her head.

“I’m not a patient,” she said. “I’m- well, honestly, I’m here because Alana Bloom asked me to be.” Abigail’s brow furrowed.

“Who are you?” 

“I’m her niece. She talked to me a little bit about what’s going on because I’ve had similar experiences,” Cerulean said. 

“Really,” Abigail said. Cerulean pulled her hair back from her face. Abigail blinked in shock at the scar trailing down Cerulean’s face.

It was kind of overwhelming, Cerulean supposed. It trailed from her hairline past her ear to her jaw, spidering edges just hidden by her perpetually loose hair. The doctors had said she was lucky none of it spread to her eyes but had remained on the less important skin.

“Wow,” Abigail said. “Your dad did that to you?”

“My father did, yeah,” Cerulean said, letting her hair fall back. “Apparently, everyone who’s ever been a victim of attempted filicide is supposed to be able to bond.” Abigail smirked.

“Adults are weird like that,” she said. 

“I think it’s the trauma version of all gay people know each other,” Cerulean said. 

“Yeah, it kinda is,” Abigail agreed. “Though, you do kinda sound familiar.”

“I may have visited you while you were unconscious,” Cerulean said. She winced at the memory. “You don’t remember what I said, do you? It was very awkward. I’m not good at talking to comatose people.”

“I don’t.”

“Oh, thank God. I have a hard enough time talking to people as it is,” Cerulean said. Abigail smiled.

“How long does Dr. Bloom have you here?” she asked.

“Until we get caught,” Cerulean said. “We…may not have told anyone we were doing it. Just in case we ended up hating each other or something.”

“I don’t hate you yet,” Abigail said. “You wanna hang out for a little while?”

“Well, as long as you don’t hate me yet,” Cerulean said. “And I should probably mention this, because it might make you hate me, but I’m also related to Will Graham.” Abigail’s smile dropped.

“The guy who shot my dad?”

“Yeah. He’s sort of my dad. He adopted me after my birth father tried to kill me,” Cerulean said. “Technically, we’re second cousins.”

“How long has it been?” Abigail asked.

“Uh, twelve years? Eleven?” Cerulean frowned. “I don’t know. But I understand if that makes you hate me.” Abigail shrugged.

“My dad is a serial killer,” she said. Cerulean noted the acceptance in the other girl’s voice and was intrigued. “I don’t think I can hold your dad against you if you don’t hold mine against me.”

“Sound fair to me,” Cerulean said. “He doesn’t know I’m here, if that helps.”

“You know, it kinda does,” Abigail replied. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Cerulean, despite my lack of blue anything,” Cerulean said. “You can call me Cerule, which is shorter, or Blue, which is shorter and mildly funny.” 

“I think I’ll stick with Cerulean for now,” Abigail said. “I like Abigail better than Abby.”

“All right. So.” Cerulean walked toward the table in the room and had a seat. “What do you wanna do while we hang?”

*

Abigail and Cerulean were together for an hour, talking. They talked about a lot of things, avoiding family, which wasn’t too difficult. Occasionally Abigail’s voice would go raspy and Cerulean would get up to pour her some water. Abigail let her do it a few times before protesting.

“I can get myself water, you know,” she said. Cerulean nodded as she sat down again.

“I’m sure you’re perfectly capable, but I like taking care of people,” Cerulean said. “Especially people I like.” Abigail’s smile was shy this time. She hid it quickly behind the glass Cerulean had refilled. 

“Most people wait before deciding they like someone,” Abigail said.

“Sometimes you just know,” Cerulean replied. Her phone buzzed and she sighed. “Sorry, but I have to check this.” 

“Go ahead.” Cerulean picked the phone off the table to see a text from Will on the screen.

'U were right about Abigail. Feed the dogs and I will pick u up for dinner.'

“Well, I haven’t been busted, but I have to get going,” Cerulean said, looking up. “Do you have access to a phone? I’ll leave you my number.”

*

Cerulean and Alana made it back just in time for Alana to escape before Will could see her car leave. Cerulean felt a little bit like a secret agent as she fed the dogs. Will’s car was just pulling into the driveway when she put the food away. A number of cheesy exclamations- ‘we skilled it’ and ‘fuck yeah, mission accomplished’- ran through her head. They were lost after Will slammed the front door.

“Shit,” Cerulean muttered. Then she raised her voice to address him. “Dad? You okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s Freddie fucking Lounds.” Cerulean stopped in her tracks. Will didn’t swear, especially in hearing range of Cerulean. Will walked in and she could see how pissed he was.

“Holy crap, what did she do?” Cerulean asked.

“She went to see Abigail Hobbs,” Will said, voice light. That was a bad sign. If his voice was light, shit was about to go down. “She visited Abigail and told her that her father was the Minnesota Shrike. Then Lounds told Abigail that I ki- that I caught her father, that I catch insane people because I am insane.”

“That bitch!” Cerulean hissed. 

“I’m so pissed at her I don’t even care you’re swearing.” Will laughed. “Abigail is never going to trust me now, if she ever was going to.” He slammed his hand into the wall and the dogs growled. Will rested his head against his fist, closing his eyes.

“Dad…”Cerulean reached out for Will. He didn’t flinch away like he sometimes did, but let her put a hand on his arm. “Dad, don’t let her get to you. It’s not going to make anything better, let alone your relationship with Abigail.” Will turned his head without opening his eyes.

“I may have made things worse,” he said softly. Cerulean grimaced.

“Yeah?”

“I said something very quotable to Lounds. It’s probably going to be in tomorrow’s TattleCrime.” Will opened his eyes. “I apologize in advance.” Cerulean nodded.

“It’s okay. Freddie Lounds is mud on my shoes,” she said. “Annoying, but easily forgotten.” Will smiled. “Now, are we gonna do a fancy smancy dinner in a restaurant, or should we just break out the mac and cheese? I’m down with either.”

*

There was a series of pictures Cerulean once saw online that stuck with her. It had text over flags from different countries, the text supposedly a summary of the country’s history. Intended to be humorous, the Russian flag had a single sentence: and then it got worse.

Cerulean felt like this was pretty accurate for Will’s luck right now.

Things were okay throughout school, or as far as Cerulean knew. Will sent her a text about taking Abigail to Minnesota and Alana sent her a text asking if she’d go to see Abigail again this afternoon. But after fifth period, people started looking at Cerulean funny and whispering when she wasn’t looking. She thought she was just being paranoid. Then Cam passed her phone to Cerulean behind the lab table while their Chem teacher was busy. 

ANOTHER SHRIKE IN THE NEST? The headline ran. Cerulean almost rolled her eyes, but she spotted her name in the middle of the article, next to her dad’s picture.

'Will Graham bears another striking similarity to Garrett Jacob Hobbs- both men have teenage daughters nearly ready to leave the nest. Cerulean Graham, 16, is shorter and heavier than Abigail Hobbs, but spends just as much time with her father. According to sources at her school, Cerulean is selectively social, brilliant, and has a cutting insight into the minds of others.   
“She doesn’t talk much,” one classmate says. “She thinks she’s better than us, like being smart and having a tragic backstory makes her special.”  
The tragic backstory is familiar to many of us, as Cerulean Graham is the biological daughter of Thomas Barber, the multi-billionaire now imprisoned for treason and child murder. We must wonder if Cerulean was unfortunate enough to have traded one dangerous father for another…'

Cerulean stopped reading and shoved the phone back. A bilious feeling rose in her throat. Cam put the phone away.

“You gonna be okay?” she muttered. Cerulean nodded, swallowing hard.

“They won’t try and take me away from him, right?” she murmured back. 

“I- I don’t know. I don’t think they can come just because some piece of shit wrote lies,” Cam said. She didn’t sound convinced. Cerulean nodded again anyway, turning back to Chemistry. 

*

“I read that article,” Abigail said when Cerulean walked in. Cerulean stopped. She shifted awkwardly.

“Yeah? What’d you think?” Abigail, sitting on the end of her bed, shrugged.

“She’s right- we are pretty similar,” she said. “I didn’t like the part where she called you heavy, though.”

“That was the last thing I was worried about, honestly,” Cerulean said.

“Yeah, but you…why would anyone care about that when you’re so…” Abigail shook her head. “Never mind. And I don’t believe you that you think you’re better than everyone else. People are stupid.”

“Oh, I know. That’s why I’m…what did she say? Selectively social?” Cerulean said. “I mean, most of what she said about me is true, the part about my dad is bullshit.” 

“What’s he like?” Abigail asked. “I only got to see him once.”

“Well, he’s…he’s quiet,” Cerulean said. “He’s sarcastic, which is probably where I picked it up from. He loves dogs- dogs are his thing.”

“Not crazy people?” Abigail said. Cerulean shook her head. 

“He can think like anybody. He can predict what politicians are going to say in interviews and stuff, it’s pretty cool,” she said. “I can do it too, it just takes imagination and practice. It’s just that there’s a demand for people who can empathize with the more…eccentric kind of criminal.”

“Like my dad,” Abigail said. 

“Yeah.”

“What does he think of me?” The question was trying to be innocent, but a small waver in Abigail’s voice told Cerulean that there had been a lot of worry over this.

“He wants to protect you,” Cerulean replied. “He feels responsible for you, for what happened. If he could fix everything for you, he would.”

“What about Dr. Lecter?” Abigail asked. Cerulean paused.

“I don’t know Dr. Lecter,” she said finally. “But I imagine he feels a certain protectiveness towards you too. He was the one to save you.” Abigail nodded, but her eyes were calculating. Cerulean wondered if this was brought on by Will or Dr. Lecter.

“I brought my laptop,” Cerulean said. “I thought we could watch your shows, the episodes you missed. If you’d like that.”

“I watched those with my mom,” Abigail said. Cerulean winced. “What’s your favorite show?”

“Buffy,” Cerulean said. “Or Game of Thrones.”

“Let’s watch some of that instead,” Abigail said. “I’ve never seen Buffy.” She pulled her legs up onto the bed and patted a spot next to her. Cerulean walked over. The bed was a little high for her to climb onto, but Abigail put out a hand to help her up. 

Touching Abigail was like grabbing a live wire. Cerulean’s hand tingled and she felt a sudden urge to blush. Cerulean concealed it well, though, from years of inappropriate crush practice.

Fuck, she thought. And I thought this couldn’t get any more complicated.

*

Alana and Cerulean were not quite so lucky that afternoon. Will pulled up in front of the house shortly after they did. The two women glanced at each other in the living room as Will walked up.

“Do we tell him the truth?” Alana asked.

“He’ll know if we’re lying,” Cerulean said. Will came in the door and saw them standing in the living room, Cerulean’s bag still in her hand. He paused.

“Did you two go somewhere?” 

“We were visiting Abigail,” Alana said. Will stared at her. “Actually, I was correcting papers in my car. Cerulean was visiting Abigail.”

“Why didn’t I hear about this?” Will asked, turning to Cerulean. She shrugged.

“We wanted to make sure she would like me, first of all-”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone likes you.”

“And we didn’t want Jack Crawford finding out,” Cerulean finished. “He’d try and take advantage of it to get information.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Will said.

“Cerulean has no obligation to report back what she hears to Jack or anyone else,” Alana says. “She’s a safe space for Abigail, someone who knows all the facts but won’t judge or report her.”

“It sounds good to me,” Will said. “But I don’t think there’s a way to bring you with us to Minnesota.”

“Why are you going to Minnesota?” Cerulean said. 

“Jack and Dr. Lecter think we should take Abigail home, see what happens,” Alana said, dryness in her voice. 

“Alana’s not a fan of the idea and you’re doing it anyway?” Cerulean said. Will shrugged.

“Either it’s helpful or it isn’t, but Abigail asked to go home,” he said. “So we’re taking her home.”

*

Cerulean did have to stay behind. Will and Alana both went to Minnesota with Abigail. Will wasn’t sure how long they’d be gone, so he asked Beverly Katz to stay with Cerulean. Cerulean was just glad Crawford hadn’t volunteered. 

She didn’t hear anything from Will, Abigail, or Alana other than a ‘landed safely’ text from Will. Alana and Will both promised Abigail would be able to use their phones if she wanted to talk to Cerulean. Knowing that didn’t stop Cerulean from wondering about them all throughout school and “choir.”

“Okay, I am super done with this.” Cam’s voice brought Cerulean’s attention to the taller girl.

“Hmm?”

“You have had your head up in the clouds all day. What is going on?” Cam said. 

“Yeah, what are you thinking about?” Andie asked. Cerulean looked around the classroom to see all her friends were watching her.

“Oh, uh, Dad had to go back to Minnesota,” she said. “There’s a…thing.”

“A thing,” Dan repeated.

“Well, I’m reassured,” Trace said. “A thing clears it all up.” Cerulean rolled her eyes.

“It’s a thing about the Minnesota Shrike. I can’t talk about it.”

“Really? Coz I thought that you had your ‘I met a really cute girl who’s probably straight’ distractedness going on,” Press said. Cerulean blushed. “Aha! Dan, pay up!”

“She hasn’t confirmed it yet!” Dan said.

“Actually, there is a girl. An unobtainable, very pretty girl who I cannot and will not go after for many, many reasons,” Cerulean said. The others exchanged looks. “What?”

“Dude,” George said. “I don’t even feel romantic love and I can tell you have got it bad for this girl.”

“Look, just leave it. Nothing is gonna happen,” Cerulean said. 

“Whatever. We’re not in charge of your love life,” Andie said. “So, what does everyone think of doing RENT? I’ve always wanted to play a lawyer.”

*

Beverly arrived at the Graham house around six-thirty. Her car pulled up to the house and all the dogs rushed over. Cerulean followed the dogs at a slower pace. Beverly got out of her car, bending over to say hello to the dogs. They sniffed her and panted happily. Beverly looked up to see Cerulean. 

“Hey!”

“Hi. See you’re enjoying the welcoming committee,” Cerulean said. Beverly laughed.

“Yeah, I’m a dog person. And a cat person. Heck, I’m an everything person,” she said. “I brought dinner. Your dad told me you like the Risetti’s white pizza, so I got that.”

“Oh, thanks,” Cerulean said. “I could have made something-”

“Nah, this is a girls’ night! Dad’s away, we indulge,” Beverly said. “How do we feel about chick flicks? Coz I’m not a big fan of them but Easy A is an exception.” Cerulean smiled.

“Miss Katz, I have a feeling we’re going to get along very well.”

*

Pizza and the movie were fun, but Cerulean was still thinking about Will and Abigail. Beverly seemed to understand, bringing Cerulean out of her thoughts periodically by saying how she thought this scene was really funny or Emma Stone looked fantastic in that outfit. Cerulean was pretty sure by the end of the movie that Beverly was probably attracted to women more than men, if her comments were any indication. The dogs waited patiently at Cerulean’s feet for the crusts she wouldn’t eat. She broke the crust into small pieces before tossing it to them.

As the movie ended, Beverly and Cerulean both reached for the pizza box.

“I can handle it, Miss-”

“Hey, I’m the one in charge, I can clean up if I want to,” Beverly interrupted. “And Beverly, kiddo, I’m Beverly. Miss Katz is a stripper somewhere in Vegas.” Cerulean wasn’t sure how to answer that one. Luckily her phone went off and she was saved the trouble. 

“See? I’ll clean up while you answer that,” Beverly said, taking the box and their plates. Cerulean pulled out her phone while unsuccessfully trying to banish the mental image Beverly had just put in her head.

“Hello?”

“Hey. Sorry I haven’t called, today has been…strange,” Will said. “How are you and Beverly doing?”

“Fine,” Cerulean said. 

“That your dad?” Beverly asked as she came back from dumping the box in the garbage. Cerulean nodded. “Will, she’s staying up late so we can go partying! Lots of booze and boys!” Cerulean laughed.

“Yeah, like she could get you to go partying,” Will said, chuckling. 

“Depends on the party. I might go with the right incentive,” Cerulean said. Beverly fist-pumped and walked back into the kitchen. “Why was today strange?”

“I’m not sure I know Abigail as well as I thought,” Will said. Cerulean bit her tongue instead of saying ‘no shit.’ 

“What makes you say that?”

“I can’t tell if she’s got a dissociative disorder or is just very good at compartmentalizing. She was very…detached at the house,” Will said. “She barely blinked looking at the stained concrete where her mother died and asked casually if her own blood had been all over the kitchen floor.”

“It could be she’s used to holding back emotion, Dad. If Hobbs was as unstable as you thought, it would leak out from time to time,” Cerulean said. 

“I know, but it’s still mildly disturbing,” Will said. “But she seemed…less restrained when her friend Marissa showed up. They seemed fine.”

“She probably feels safer with a friend. Especially someone she knew before all this went down,” Cerulean said. 

“Until Nicholas Boyle showed up.” Will’s voice was sour. Cerulean frowned in confusion.

“Who?”

“Cassie Boyle’s brother. She was the one on the stag head, the copycat’s victim,” Will said. “He accused Abigail of helping her father murder his sister.”

“Son of a-”

“Hey.”

“Son of a Quaker,” Cerulean finished, rolling her eyes. “How is she now?”

“Shaken, slightly. She asked to talk to you when I’m finished,” Will said. “I imagine now that I’ve said that you want me to give up the phone.”

“In a minute. How are you doing?” Cerulean asked.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. The one who started unofficially seeing a psychiatrist because this case has been messing with him.” Will sighed.

“I’m doing all right. Revisiting the scene hasn’t sent me into a depressive spiral thus far. And Dr. Lecter is here for me to talk to if I really feel crappy,” he said. 

“Oh, he came too?” Cerulean said. “How convenient.”

“Yes. Dr. Lecter is an official consultant for the FBI now,” Will said. “I’m not sure I like your tone. What’s your problem with Dr. Lecter?”

“I don’t have a problem with him.”

“Then why the attitude?”

“I just think he sounds off,” Cerulean said. “I mean, you two got off to a pretty rough start and then he brought you breakfast. He rubber-stamped you for duty but wasn’t at all surprised when you came back. He’s encouraging you to do this stuff even though it messes you up. You don’t think any of that’s weird?”

“He’s not as mischievous as you seem to think. When we get back, I’ll introduce you two. Then you won’t feel this way,” Will said. 

“Whatever you say, Dad. Why don’t you bring me to Abigail now?”

“Did I just get dissed?” Will said, laughing slightly.

“Yes, Abigail’s much prettier than you,” Cerulean said. Will laughed louder.

“Right, right. Hang on a second, I have to go knock on her door.” Cerulean waited, listening to Will walk out of his room to Abigail’s door. She heard him tap on the door. 

“Abigail, I have Cerulean on the phone.” There was some static and the sound of a door opening. 

“She’s already on the phone?” Abigail said. 

“Yeah. Just bring the phone back when you two are done, okay?” Will said. The phone was passed over and the door shut.

“Hi.” Abigail’s voice was breathless. 

“Hey. You okay?”

“I’m okay, it’s just been a weird day,” Abigail said. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. I’ve been thinking about you most of the day,” Cerulean said. She turned scarlet. “I mean, I’ve been thinking about how today must been have hard for you.”

“Uh-huh. It was…not easy,” Abigail said. Cerulean could hear the floof of weight settling on the hotel mattress. “They kept looking at me like I was a bomb about to go off.”

“That would suck,” Cerulean agreed. “Dad said your friend came to see you.”

“Yeah, Marissa. That was good, it was nice seeing her,” Abigail said. “She doesn’t think I did it.”

“Did what?” Cerulean asked, confused.

“…Helped my dad. Everyone else seems to think it’s a possibility,” Abigail said. “Isn’t that why Dr. Bloom has you talking to me? To find out if I did it?”

“I…I didn’t even know that was something to consider,” Cerulean said, voice faltering. No one told her this. Why did no one tell her this? Was that why Alana had her go see Abigail? No, Alana wouldn’t do that. She and Will would have deliberately not told Cerulean so she wouldn’t see Abigail as a potential killer.

“Oh. Do…do you think I did it?” Abigail said. She had gone very quiet. Cerulean ran a hand through her hair.

“Abigail…if you did anything, it was because you had to. I know that. If your father hadn’t killed those girls, he would have killed you. So if you did help him, I can’t fault you for trying to stay alive,” she said. “Anyone who does can go get fucked.”

“Even the FBI?” Abigail said.

“The whole lot of them. Fucked. They deserve it, actually, now that I think about it…I should phrase things better,” Cerulean said. “They can go get fucked with cactus skin dildos. There we go.” Abigail giggled. 

“You seem so sweet and then you say something like cactus skin dildos.”

“I’m unpredictable like that. Just don’t tell my dad. He doesn’t know I know such things exist,” Cerulean said.

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

*

The next morning, after Beverly dropped her off at school, Cerulean found someone had scraped all the paint off the front of her locker. There was instead a huge gray blemish standing out among the identical black lockers. Cerulean stared at it with an open mouth and raised brow.

“Yeah, it was like that why I came by earlier,” Dan said from beside her. “Custodian says he’ll have it fixed by tomorrow morning. You wanna move your books over to my locker?”

“I guess so.” Cerulean opened the mutilated door and was met with a second surprise: flowers fell on her. Petals went everywhere as Cerulean and Dan caught as much as they could.

“What the fuck?” Cerulean said. “Daisies?”

“These aren’t even in season,” Dan remarked, picking up the ones that fell to the floor. 

“That’s the confusing part for you?”

“It just adds to the mystery. Why would someone scrape paint off your locker and fill it with out-of-season flowers?” Dan said. Cerulean shook her head. 

“Someone needs to make up their mind. Here, hold these.” Cerulean shoved the rest of the bouquet into Dan’s arms. She started grabbing books, only to find there was a note in the back of her locker written on pale green stationary. YOU HAVE A LOVELY SMILE, it read in messy letters. Cerulean took the note and pushed it into her pocket with embarrassment. This was all too much.

“So, secret admirer?” Dan said.

“Shut up or I’ll put those out-of-season flowers in your ears.”

*

Cerulean got called down to the main office in the first fifteen minutes of class. She was directed to an office, where another student was fidgeting in front of their frankly laughable assistant principal, Mr. Mike Buckets. Mr. Buckets was a very tall man with a very small brain and a very bald head. He glared at the student already seated in front of him. Cerulean recognized her from several classes they shared. Her name was…Leigh? Lea? Cerulean wasn’t sure.

“Miss Graham. Please have a seat,” Mr. Buckets said. Cerulean did. The other student glanced at her before averting her eyes to Buckets’ paperweight.

“May I ask why I’m here, sir?”

“It’s about your locker,” Buckets said. “We went through the security footage and found out who vandalized it. Miss Haverford, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“You clearly didn’t go back that far in the security footage,” Haverford muttered. 

“Excuse me?” Buckets’ nostrils flared. Haverford lifted her gaze.

“I scraped the paint off because someone else spray-painted the stupid thing,” she said. “And I thought it was rude, so I got rid of it.”

“Oh,” Cerulean said. She wondered what could have been written on her locker that someone who didn’t really know her. There wasn’t much time to contemplate the idea because Cerulean’s phone started buzzing violently in her pocket.

“I don’t care what the locker looked like, you defaced school property. You need to apologize to Miss Graham and you’ll be serving detention for the next three weeks,” Buckets declared. Cerulean glanced discreetly at her phone to see it was Alana. Shit, what’s going on?

“I’m sorry,” Haverford said, eyes on Cerulean’s shoes. 

“It’s all right. Mr. Buckets, may I go?” Buckets nodded and Cerulean bolted from the office. She hurried into a stairwell and answered the phone.

“Hello?” She was met with the sound of heavy, tear-filled breathing. “Abigail?”

“Marissa- Marissa’s dead,” Abigail said finally. “Some- someone killed her just- just like the others.” Cerulean inhaled sharply. 

“Okay, what do you need?” she asked.

“I-I don’t know-”

“It’s okay. I’m here as long as you need me.”

*

It took about half an hour for Abigail to calm down enough to hang up. Cerulean got back to class and while Press and Dan gave her some pretty inquisitive side-eyes, the teacher said nothing about Cerulean’s absence.

*

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful. Haverford (whose first name still escaped Cerulean) avoided eye contact like the Plague. Cerulean was even less able to focus today than yesterday, but managed to skate through class. Her friends kept pestering her about the locker situation, which had been relegated to the same importance as what was going to be dinner tonight. Cerulean got a ride home from Press, who was willing to let it go. 

Cerulean let the dogs out and they walked all around the property while she pondered who might have killed Marissa. Nick Boyle, Cassie Boyle’s brother, had been at the house the day before, accusatory. Marissa had thrown a rock at him. But something about that didn’t sit right- why would he accuse Abigail of helping murder his sister if he did it and no one was onto him? No, there was something else, something Cerulean couldn’t see. 

Beverly had gone to Minnesota to help process the scene. Cerulean didn’t really care that she would be alone tonight- she wasn’t good company at the moment anyway. She had the dogs, a Taser, and Mace. Cerulean was not afraid. 

She ushered all the dogs back inside, doing a quick headcount to make sure she had all ten. Then Cerulean attempted to do homework for several hours but gave up to clean out the fridge for dinner. She watched TV aimlessly with dogs piled on top of her until she fell into an uneasy sleep. The next morning, Will was home and unwilling to talk about the day before.


	9. Whoops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cerulean and Sam clarify a few things

He watches Cerulean pull apart the bread that was supposed to be on top of her sandwich. The rest of the sandwich is mostly gone, eaten in small bites when Sam asked for clarification. Cerulean had told much of the latter half to the roll in her hands. Her eyes are far away and her mouth is tight.

“I didn’t realize you lost Abigail too,” Sam says. Cerulean looks up at him. “I mean, you really liked her.” The roll falls out of her hands.

“Oh, God, I hadn’t realized I was telling you that part,” she says, going red. “I just came out to you by accident, holy shit…” She puts her face in her hands.

“It’s okay, you being into women is fine,” Sam says. “If I’m honest, I’m not exactly straight either.” Cerulean’s eyes peer over her fingers.

“Yeah?”

“I’m bi. Ainsley knows, although she’s straight,” Sam says. “Have you not come out to anyone before?”

“Not adults.” Cerulean lowers her hands, red fading into pink. “All my friends know. It’s harder to tell people over the age of twenty. They try to tell you it’s a phase.”

“Yeah, that really fucked me up for a while,” Sam says. Cerulean smiles. “What?”

“I’ve never heard you say fuck before. Seemed beneath you,” she replies.

“Sometimes it’s the only word that fits,” Sam says. “Does…does your dad know?” Cerulean hesitates.

“I don’t know. We never talked about it,” she says. “There are a lot of things we don’t talk about, now that I think about it.”

“Well, if you need to talk about it, Ainsley and I are here for you,” Sam says. “Who killed Marissa, do you think?” 

“Oh, Dr. Lecter, definitely,” Cerulean says. “Tell you why- Marissa was someone for Abigail to lean on. He couldn’t have her confiding in anyone he couldn’t monitor. Nick Boyle was a convenient scapegoat.”

“If that’s true, why aren’t you dead?” Sam asks. 

“Too obvious,” Cerulean says. “There’s no one else to blame it on, first of all, coz the killers don’t know what I look like and I live in the middle of nowhere. Secondly, Dad would be able to tell who killed me. Third, it would fuck up the ultimate plan of slow decline. If he was to kill me, he’d have done it last. Instead, he sent Dad to prison.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Sam says. 

“You will,” Cerulean replies. 

“Did you ever figure out who put the flowers in your locker?” Sam asks instead of further delving into the Dr. Lecter question. He is pretty sure that’s gonna take more time than he has.

“Oh, yeah. That’s a little awkward, honestly, but all settled. We’re friends now,” Cerulean says. She smiles tightly. “I explained that I was interested in someone else. She understood.”

“So it was a she. Not a boy.”

“No, thank God. Boys don’t like the word no.” Cerulean grimaces. “I know this is the stereotype of lesbians, but boys can really suck.”

“You seem to have male friends,” Sam says. 

“None of them are straight,” Cerulean says. “It’s straight boys that suck.”

“That’s true. Straight boys were always the ones to harass people,” Sam says, recalling a few incidents in Princeton. “And on that note, I should get going. I need to get back to work. I’ll call you soon- let me know when you’re going to see your dad, all right?”

“Will do. Do you wanna split the bill or-”

“No, this is on me. After all, I don’t have to pay for college in a few years,” Sam says. Cerulean winces.

“Yeah, I kinda forgot about college…”

“We’ll talk about that next time. You are going to college, even if we have to fill the forms out for you,” Sam says. Cerulean laughs, the sound less restrained than her smile. Sam makes a note to talk to Dr. Bloom about Cerulean’s educational future. Her life isn’t getting entirely put on pause for this whole ordeal.


	10. The Truth Always Comes Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has new evidence. The Seaborns meet Hannibal for the first time, setting off a chain reaction, and Cerulean's subconscious gives her a flash of insight.

Walking into the interrogation room, Jack feels a little bit guilty. The evidence bags are burning in his pocket, accusing him of violation and intrusion. Will, already seated at the table with cuffs threaded through the metal ring, seems to notice. 

“Problem, Jack?” Will asks this in such a blasé voice Jack wants to think they’re back in the FBI building. 

“A slight problem,” Jack says. He sits across from Will “We just processed some new evidence.”

“New evidence?”

“Not new, but it’s not the first thing we processed.” Jack takes the evidence bags out of his pocket and sets them on the table. “These were found in a box under Cerulean’s bed.” Will’s eyes flash dangerously.

“You took some of Cerulean’s things? You searched her bedroom? Why the hell-”

“We had to search everything, Will, you know that. If it makes you feel any better, it was only Beverly in there,” Jack says. 

“Cerulean doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Will insists.

“You sure about that?” Jack says. Will frowns. “How close was your daughter to Abigail Hobbs?”

“Close enough. They confided in each other, I know that.”

“You know if they did anything else with each other?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Will says. Jack pushes the evidence bag forward.

“These letters suggest that Abigail and Cerulean were…romantically involved,” he says. Will picks up the bag. “We confirmed Abigail’s handwriting. There are mentions of replies to these, but we didn’t find any.” Will puts the bag down.

“These don’t have anything to do with the investigation,” he says. 

“Don’t they?” Jack replies. “Will, Abigail and Cerulean were very close. Close enough that maybe killing Abigail would mean you wouldn’t have to kill Cerulean.”

“Excuse me?” Will speaks through gritted teeth. 

“You got too close to Garrett Jacob Hobbs,” Jack says. “He was killing those girls so not to kill his daughter. It’s not a huge leap to think-”

“That I was thinking about killing mine? That’s bullshit, Jack. It doesn’t even make sense with the rest of the evidence,” Will says. “I thought I was supposed to be an intelligent psychopath now. Or are you just bouncing around hare-brained theories until I break?”

“If I was going to bounce around nonsense theories, I’d be talking to Cerulean right now, not you,” Jack snaps. “I’m trying to make sense of the evidence. The evidence tells me that Cerulean and Abigail were much closer than anyone knew, and that could have had some impact on her death.”

“It didn’t,” Will says. “Because I didn’t kill Abigail, and the person who did seems to have no interest in Cerulean.”

“Right. We’re back to your nonsense theory,” Jack says. “You do realize that this isn’t helping you or your kid, right? You’re digging your grave here, Will.” Will leans back in his chair. Jack has the feeling that if he could, Will would have crossed his arms over his chest.

“Give her the letters back, Jack,” Will says in a quiet voice. “They may be all she has left of Abigail.”

*

She knows there’s something else going on. She catches Sam biting his lip, lost in thought over some worry. Cerulean will switch tracks mid-sentence to avoid saying whatever it is they don’t want her to know. Ainsley knows her husband well enough that she’s not worried about infidelity- especially since she was damn sure Cerulean was gay- but there’s something they’re not telling her. 

It comes to the surface a few days after Sam meets Cerulean for lunch. Ainsley has a standing invitation at the Baltimore Opera House thanks to a long friendship with the owner. She tried to go once a month. That never works out, but Ainsley makes it tonight, Sam in tow. He’s not a huge fan of opera, but he goes with her anyway. Ainsley spends the performance with her husband’s hand in hers and her head on his shoulder. It’s very nice. The problem arises at the reception afterwards.

They mingle with what Sam likes to call the ‘high and mighty and stuckup.’ For all his disdain, Sam behaves. 

“Mr. Seaborn!” Ainsley turns to see a woman with bright blue eyes approaching. A man follows her, a man Ainsley recognizes from other performances. He’s tall and…European. Very European.

“Dr. Bloom! Didn’t expect to see you here,” Sam says to the woman. She smiles.

“I don’t frequent the opera. I’m just a plus-one.”

“An excellent plus-one to be sure,” the man beside her says in his strange accent. Sam’s eyes flicker for a moment.

“Mr. Seaborn, this is Hannibal Lecter,” Dr. Bloom says. Sam blinks, then smiles. 

“Doctor Lecter, yes? Cerulean’s told me about you,” he says. Something’s off about his smile, Ainsley can see. “This is my wife, Ainsley Hayes.” Sam gestures to Ainsley, who pauses in her study of him to look at Dr. Lecter and Dr. Bloom.

“So nice to meet you two,” she says. Dr. Lecter takes her offered hand and puts a kiss on her knuckles. Yep, European, all right. 

“The pleasure is mine,” Dr. Lecter says. “The two of you have been instrumental in Cerulean’s adjustment during this difficult time in her life. I cannot thank you enough.” Ainsley is left with a slight sense of unease. She hasn’t heard about this man from Cerulean, though Sam said he has, and she has the feeling there’s a reason.

“It’s a privilege to be in her life again,” Ainsley says. “She’s a wonderful girl.”

“She really is,” Dr. Bloom says. “I know that you were concerned about Cerulean’s education when we spoke the other day, Mr. Seaborn. I think it is a little early to discuss that with her in detail, but we might be able to start talking about the general ideas.”

“Well, that’s always a good start. Has she given any indication of what she wants to major in?” Sam says.

“Theater or English. The really useful majors,” Dr. Bloom says, rolling her eyes. “No offense to either, of course, but Cerulean can excel at whatever she chooses and she picks the two majors that lead nowhere.”

“The heart wants what the heart wants. Nothing we can do to change that,” Dr. Lecter says. “Perhaps Cerulean will become the next great American novelist. Or an acclaimed actress. All she needs is time.” Something in his tone makes the hair on Ainsley’s neck stand on end. 

Sam jumps suddenly and pulls the phone from his pocket. There’s nothing on it, not even when he pushes the home button, but neither of the doctors can see that.

“Damn it,” Sam says under his breath. He looks up to Dr. Lecter and Dr. Bloom. “I hate to run out on you two, but there’s an emergency at the office. It was nice meeting you both. Ainsley?”

“I’m sure we’ll see each other again. Pleasure to meet you,” Ainsley says. Sam takes her by the wrist and gets them both of out of the room as quickly as possible without drawing attention. He says nothing the whole time, which scares Ainsley even more. When they get to the car, she yanks her hand away.

“Sam, what in God’s name just happened?” Ainsley demands. Sam takes a deep, shaky breath.

“I’m not sure you’d believe me,” he says. “But I had to get out of there.”

“I could tell,” Ainsley says, voice softer. “What’s going on? Who’s Dr. Lecter?”

“He was Will Graham’s psychiatrist,” Sam says.

“And?” Ainsley prompts. 

“Why does there have to be an ‘and?’”

“Because you practically ran out of there and he gives me the creeps. What else is there?” Ainsley says. Sam sighs. 

“If you believe Cerulean, which I’m starting to, he framed Will Graham for all those murders,” he answers quietly. Ainsley pauses. 

“Get in the car,” she says finally. “Tell me everything.”

*

She walks into the house with a bottle of wine. Why is she holding the wine? She can’t drink wine. She doesn’t like wine. Yet still she carries the bottle through the ornate halls, past the paintings of long-dead artists and far-gone events. She passes through the dark dining room, its dark splendor both beautiful and terrifying. She enters the kitchen.

Blood is everywhere. Splashed on the stainless steel and the gray stone, red permeates the room. Antlers come from the fridge and Abigail hangs from them. Her torso has been opened and Hannibal withdraws a crimson hand with a kidney as prize. 

Her mouth hangs open. The bottle disappears from her hands but there is no crash. Hannibal turns anyway. His eyes run over her.

“I could do with a second course.”

*

A scream pulls Alana out of sleep. The dogs bark as they skitter past Alana’s door. Alana bolts up out of bed, pausing only to grab the baseball bat she keeps by the door on her way to the guest bedroom.

When she arrives at the door, Cerulean is sitting upright in bed. The blankets have been thrown aside and Cerulean’s breathing heavily as she tries to keep the dogs off the bed.

“No- no- Alana doesn’t want you up here-”

“Cerulean? Are you all right?” Alana leaves the bat in the hallway. Cerulean looks up, eyes wide and panicked.

“Just- just a nightmare. I’m fine.” Alana walks in anyway. She pushes her way through the dogs to sit on the bed.

“You wanna talk about it?” Alana asks. Cerulean shakes her head.

“I’m sorry I woke you. I-I just-” Alana puts a hand on Cerulean’s shoulder. 

“It’s okay if you’re not okay,” she says. “Why don’t I stay with you for a little while?”

“I’m fine,” Cerulean says. “But- I wouldn’t mind if you stayed.” Alana smiles slightly. She slides in next to Cerulean and puts her arms around the girl. Cerulean pauses at first, but curls up beside Alana. The dogs whine.

“Oh, fine, you can come up too,” Alana says. She pats the mattress and four furry bodies leap up onto the bed. They pile onto Cerulean’s lap and on her other side. Cerulean closes her eyes, taking what Alana knows must be a centering breath. 

They stay this way for a long time.

*

Ainsley, after getting Sam to tell her everything, tells him there needs to be a talk with Cerulean. Sam’s not entirely sure what kind of talk she means, but he’s sure it’s going to go badly. 

They invite Cerulean over for brunch at their apartment. Ainsley is throwing food together in silence. Sam is mildly afraid to speak, only asking if he’s setting things up the way she wants. Ainsley nods and goes back to what she’s doing.

Cerulean arrives about twenty minutes after this starts. When Sam goes to meet her downstairs, he notes the circles under her eyes and the messy way her hair is pulled into a ponytail. She’s never worn her hair back in front of Sam before; the starkness of her scar is startling in the morning sun. 

“You okay?” Sam asks. Cerulean nods.

“Didn’t sleep well,” she says. “You don’t look so hot yourself.”

“My night wasn’t great either. I’ll tell you when we get upstairs.” Cerulean gives him a curious look, but follows him upstairs without asking further questions. 

They walk into the apartment and Ainsley shoves a plate in Cerulean’s hands. 

“Good morning. Sit down.” 

“Am I in trouble?” Cerulean says, looking at Sam. 

“Yes,” Ainsley answers. “Because he’s not a lawyer.”

“I am a lawyer!” Sam says. 

“You’re not a practicing lawyer, you’re a politician. Or political operative, whatever you want to call it,” Ainsley says. 

“And what does that have to do with me?” Cerulean says, still bewildered.

“Sam told me everything,” Ainsley says. Cerulean’s face goes stony.

“What?”

“We ran into Dr. Lecter and Dr. Bloom at the opera last night,” Sam says. “I got us out of there without drawing suspicion, but I had to tell Ainsley why.”

“Are you sure he didn’t notice?” Cerulean’s voice wavers. “He’s incredibly perceptive, if he has any inkling at all-”

“Sam is a lot better at playing cool than he seems, Cerulean. I doubt Dr. Lecter knew it was anything other than work stress,” Ainsley says. “And that’s beside the point.”

“I think being worried about a serial killer is a pretty big point!” Cerulean replies.

“The point is that you are caught between that and the FBI putting you in jail for lying to them!” Ainsley says. She sighs and puts her fingers at her temples. “Cerulean, the FBI is going to question you. They will want you to tell them everything. If you tell them everything and they don’t believe you, I imagine you won’t live long enough to see that you’re right. If you don’t tell them and they know you’re withholding information, you might end up in custody. You need a lawyer. And that’s why I’m angry. One of you should have come to me earlier!”

“Wait, let me see if I understand here,” Cerulean says, putting the plate on the counter. “You’re pissed because I didn’t make you my lawyer and tell you everything from the start?”  
“In a nutshell, yes.”

“Okay. Right. Then should I hire you now-”

“Consider me hired,” Ainsley says. “The FBI comes to call, you don’t say a word until I get there. Are we clear?”

“Crystalline,” Cerulean replies. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re really kickass?” Ainsley laughs.

“No, that’s a first. I wouldn’t mind it though.” She turns to Sam. “Why don’t you tell me I’m kickass?”

“It’s not in my usual vocabulary, but I can try to do that more often,” Sam says. "Are we okay?”

“I think so,” Cerulean says. “Are we still eating?”

“Of course. I didn’t make all this for show,” Ainsley says. “However, I do want to hear one of these murder retellings for myself. Think we can do both?”

“If you’ve got the gag reflex for it,” Cerulean says. “Though this one isn’t so gross. Dad called it the case of The Lost Boys…”


	11. Daughters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reversal of previous chapters- Cerulean through Hannibal's eyes. How Hannibal first hears of Cerulean Graham, and his thoughts on their first meeting.

The first time Hannibal became aware of Cerulean’s existence was his first ‘conversation’ with Will, the one brought on by Jack’s request for a psychological evaluation. They were speaking about Abigail Hobbs and the possibility of her being Garrett Jacob Hobbs’ accomplice. Will stood in the balcony by the bookshelves. Hannibal was waiting for him to respond to what Hannibal had just said about mirrors. 

“I already have a daughter, you know,” Will said softly. Hannibal blinked.

“Really?” Will shrugged.

“Well, she’s technically my second cousin, but she’s been calling me Dad for almost thirteen years now,” he said. “Her parents…aren’t around anymore.”

“What happened to them?” Hannibal asked. Will had a child. This was…interesting. It certainly changed the way he would have approached that last case. 

“He’s in prison, she disappeared,” Will said. “Tried looking for her once- Anna and I used to be friendly- but nothing came of it.”

“And you got custody of their daughter,” Hannibal finished.

“I was supposed to get custody of their sons as well, but Thomas had them murdered,” Will said, a shadow coming onto his face. 

“But not their sister?” 

“She’s alive, though not for lack of trying on her father’s part. Happened to be on the right side of the car when it was rammed into,” Will said. “Just the two of us now…and the dogs.”

“It must have been difficult for you, taking her in,” Hannibal said. “How did your empathy pair with parenting?” 

“Better than I had expected,” Will said, tracing the banister as he walked around the corner of the balcony. “We meshed well. Still do. We never really went through the adolescent angst everyone was warning me about.”

“How old is she?” Hannibal asked.

“She’ll be seventeen in December.”

“A year younger than Abigail,” Hannibal noted. Will nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Do you think some of your bond with your daughter bleeds into your view of Abigail?” Hannibal asked. He was fairly sure he already knew the answer to that, but hearing what Will thought would be more satisfying.

“I know it does. It has since I knew the Shrike must have a daughter,” Will said. He sighed, spreading both hands on the banister. “It’s interesting, the way parenting changes you. It’s mostly in the way in you live, but then you realize the way you see things, the way you see people…” His hands gripped the banister tightly. “…is very different than the way it used to be.”

“Parenting broadens our emotional spectrum,” Hannibal said. “It makes us more attuned to others.” He looked down at his desk, picking up his notebook. “Any daughter of yours must be a very special girl.” Will chuckled.

“You’re assuming she shares my imagination and lack of social graces,” he said. 

“Does she?” 

“She has social graces. More than I do, at least. But the imagination…it’s not like mine. It’s different, more…analytical than empathetic,” Will said. “And her forts are much better.”

“She doesn’t have to think about murder constantly,” Hannibal said. “Nevertheless, I’d love to meet her one day. Imagine the conversation.” 

“Oh, you’d be entertained, definitely,” Will said. “One of the many things she’s good at is keeping people on their toes.”

*

The second time they speak about Cerulean was when Hannibal learned her name. Will came into Hannibal’s office, pale and dead-eyed. Sitting across from Hannibal, he relayed in quiet, succinct summary what had happened at the hospital. Will did not move in his seat until he finished. Then he propped his elbow on the arm of the chair and laid his head on his hand as if it were too heavy a burden for his neck alone.

“He was in the same room as my daughter,” Will said, voice still hushed. “He could have put her on the bed with Abigail and taken them both.”

“Why didn’t he?” Hannibal asked.

“Because he wasn’t prepared for her. Lounds didn’t write about Cerulean much, he didn’t know she’d be there, so he hit her over the head and left her behind” Will said. He lifted his head and rubbed at his eyes. “Hobbs would have just killed her.”

“Stammets’ fantasy required more time and the means to keep Cerulean unconscious to take her along,” Hannibal said. “We should be grateful he wasn’t expecting her.”

“Oh, I am. Ridiculously so,” Will replied, setting his hands back on the chair arms. “I bought her a Taser and Alana’s given her Mace, but I’m hoping she never has to use them.”

“‘May there be discord in my lifetime, so that my child may know peace,’” Hannibal said. “But giving her the tools to protect herself is the next best thing.”

“She said the strangest thing afterward,” Will said. “She said something about him ‘setting off creep alarms.’ I assume that’s the same thing as getting a bad vibe from someone, but the phrase is…new.”

“But entirely accurate,” Hannibal said. “As a young woman, Cerulean must have to fend off many bad vibes. It’s not unusual to make up a phrase for it.”

“Yeah, but ‘creep alarms?’” Will said. Hannibal shrugged. 

“No accounting for vocabulary, I suppose. She is a teenage girl, after all.”

*

Hannibal next heard about Cerulean on the plane to Minnesota. He and Will sat on one side of Abigail while Alana sat on the other. As the plane was taking off, Will reached into his carry-on and pulled out a book. He turned to Abigail.

“Cerulean asked me to give this to you,” he said, holding the book out across the aisle. Abigail glanced up at his face before accepting the book.

“Thanks.” Abigail looked at the cover. “She was telling me about this one. It’s supposed to be funny.”

“Cerulean is a discerning critic, so that’s probably true,” Will said.

“Cerulean is pretty funny herself,” Abigail said. “Very sarcastic.”

“A blessing and a curse, really,” Will said. Abigail smirked. “She said you’re getting along pretty well.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Abigail said. “She treats me like a normal person, so that’s nice.” She looked up at Will. “I didn’t like what that reporter wrote about her.” Will made a face.

“I didn’t either. Cerulean pretends it doesn’t bother her, but I’m sure it did,” he said. 

“Do you think Miss Lounds wrote that stuff about her because of what you said in the parking lot?” Abigail asked. Her voice was lightly inquisitive, but Hannibal saw a familiar glint in her eyes. Will didn’t seem to notice.

“Probably,” he admitted. “I shouldn’t have said it.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t do much for your image,” Abigail said. “You sound like a nice guy when Cerulean talks about you.”

“Well, that’s good,” Will said. “I’d hate to think she doesn’t like me.” 

“Can I ask you something?” Abigail said. “Did Cerulean’s father really hire someone to kill her? Was he really that awful?”

“Yes,” Will answered. “Thomas was a very vengeful person.”

“Could you get inside his head?” Abigail said. “Have you ever tried?”

“Yes. It was…unpleasant,” Will said. “Thomas didn’t care about anyone or anything but himself. There was nothing kind or loving in him.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s a mind I’m thankful I won’t ever have to go back to.”

“Is he dead too?” Abigail asked.

“No, he’s in prison. Two consecutive life sentences,” Will said. “The jury had a lot of parents on it.”

“Good.” Abigail opened her book. Hannibal watched her begin it, adding this conversation to his impressions of Abigail. He considered asking Will about Cerulean, but decided to wait. 

After all, they should have plenty of time to discuss things. Will didn’t seem to be planning on quitting any time soon

*

“Sometimes, at night, I leave the lights on in my little house and walk across the flat fields. When I look back from a distance, the house is like a boat at sea. It’s really the only time I feel safe,” Will said. Hannibal allowed that to settle, wondering how that little boat could best be overturned.

“Far from shores that would breach the hull structure of your mind. What dark waters would they let in?” he asked. 

“My mind has already been breached,” Will replied. More than you know.

“You view your mentality as…grotesque, but useful,” Hannibal said.

“Like a chair made of antlers,” Will said. As simple as the man purported to be, Will Graham did have a remarkable gift for poetic imagery. Hannibal marveled at the words before changing the subject.

“You stood in the breathing silence of Garret Jacob Hobbs’ home. The very spaces he moved through,” he said. “Tell me, Will, did they speak to you?” Will paused, struggling to speak without broadcasting his discomfort. He did not succeed.

“With noise and clarity.” He enunciated the words like they pained him. 

“You could sense his madness,” Hannibal prodded, “like a bloodhound sniffs a shirt.”

“I tried so hard to know Garret Jacob Hobbs,” Will said. “To see him past the glint of slides and vials, beneath the lines of police reports, between the pixels of all those printed faces of sad, dead girls.”

“How did you feel seeing Marissa Schuur impaled in his antler room?” Hannibal asked. Will blinked, gathering himself.

“Guilty.”

“Because you couldn’t save her?” Hannibal said.

“Because I felt like I killed her,” Will said in a soft voice. Oh, dear Will, you make this too easy.

“I got so…close to him. Sometimes I felt like we were doing the same things at various times of the day,” Will said. “Like I was eating or showering or sleeping at the same time he was.”

“Even after he was dead?” Hannibal knew the answer, of course, he just had to get Will to say it.

“Even after he was dead,” Will confirmed. Hannibal was not one to gloat openly, but oh, the champagne was being popped in his mind.

“Like you were becoming him.”

“I know who I am. I’m not Garret Jacob Hobbs, Dr. Lecter,” Will said. 

“No. You saved your daughter. He wanted to kill his,” Hannibal replied. Will ran his tongue along his teeth.

“I didn’t save her from anything. She survived it on her own, I was just a…refuge after the event.”

“Some might argue that you saved her from the foster care system.”

“The foster care system isn’t as bad as it’s said to be. And they had someone lined up to adopt her if I didn’t, some White House employee,” Will said. “But I would do anything to save her now.”

“Do you think she needs saving?” Hannibal asked. “Saving from…” Will shook his head.

“Hypothetical danger, I suppose. I don’t know,” he said. “There’s something…lurking on the horizon of my mind. I feel as though there will be something to worry about.”

“Cerulean is in no danger, Will,” Hannibal said. “Unless you feel that being with Abigail is dangerous for her.”

“Abigail won’t hurt Cerulean. I’m not convinced she could hurt anyone,” Will replied. Except Nicholas Boyle. “And she seems to like Cerulean. Doesn’t surprise me- Cerulean’s pretty likable.”

“I can’t wait to find that out for myself,” Hannibal said. Will smiled. 

“I can only hope you two don’t get along too well. Don’t need you teaming up to swaddle me away from the world,” he said. Hannibal smirked. “I can see you plotting, Doctor.”

“I will try to plot more discreetly.”

*

Will called Hannibal a few days later, asking him if he could drive Cerulean to school the next morning. Hannibal, both grateful for the invitation into Will’s safe haven and intrigued to meet the storied Cerulean, agreed. He prepared some sausage, uncooked for the dogs and part of a breakfast scramble for the girl. The next morning did not come fast enough to satisfy Hannibal’s curiosity.

The house really was in the middle of nowhere. Hannibal drove for fifteen minutes without seeing a human structure before he found it. A modest structure, to be sure, but homey. He pulled up in front and saw tails wagging in the windows. 

Hannibal went up to the door and knocked in a slow, firm pattern. There was a pause before the door opened.

Cerulean was a short girl, shorter than Alana. Her dark curly hair, just like Will’s, fell to her shoulders and covered the fine lines of the webbed scar on the right side of her face. Her small hand gripped a black Taser as she looked him over with dark eyes. It was unclear what Cerulean might think of this first look at him- unlike Will, she was hard to read. Suspicion was readily present, Hannibal could see, but what else…that was less easy to see.

“Good morning,” Hannibal said. “I’m Dr. Hannibal Lecter.”

“Morning,” Cerulean said, opening the door all the way. “You’re earlier than I expected.” Hannibal entered. The large paper bag he held made the assorted dogs lift their heads in interest.

“My apologies. I overestimated the time it would take to get here,” Hannibal said. He surveyed the room before allowing his gaze to land on the Taser in Cerulean’s hand. “Do you normally arm yourself before answering the door?”

“Since I got knocked out by a serial killer I do,” Cerulean replied. Pragmatic. Blunt. Not that different from Will, then. “The dogs are very interested in your bag.” 

“Yes, I brought them something.” Hannibal opened the bag. “Your dad said that you don’t have a rule against feeding your dogs human food in small amounts.” He pulled out the unpackaged sausage. Cerulean eyed it with apprehension.

“Not in small amounts,” she said over the dogs’ whines. Hannibal set the bag down on the kitchen table and began breaking the sausage into small pieces. Tails wagged in anticipation and delight as the small pieces were tossed to the dogs.

“You wouldn’t be bribing my dogs, would you, Doctor?” Cerulean asked. Hannibal gave her a close-lipped smile. Clever as well. Good.

“Perhaps. I brought food for you as well, though more prepared than this.” Cerulean blinked, face blank. 

“Thank you for the thought, but I’m going to have to pass,” Cerulean said. “I’m not in the habit of accepting food from people I don’t know.” 

“A wise strategy, I suppose,” Hannibal said. He threw the last bit of sausage, wondering what Cerulean’s reason for having such a rule was. Was it only for him, or had others offered her food tainted by something dangerous? “Though it could be argued that I’m not a stranger.”

“Still, I’ve got most of a breakfast put together already. Thank you anyway,” Cerulean said. Hannibal gave a slight nod. A smooth operator. Will should be proud.

“I will insist that you join Alana and me for dinner tonight. She has been looking forward to it, and so I have I.”

“Sure thing, Doc,” Cerulean said. “I’m going to get the rest of my stuff together. Make yourself at home for the next…five, ten minutes? I don’t take too long.” She walked back into the kitchen, never entirely turning her back to Hannibal. He said nothing of it, merely noting it with the rest of the things he was learning. Instead, he ambled through the living room. Cerulean could not see him as he found his way to the piano, but she must have heard the plink of keys as he pressed them. The dogs followed him, eager for more treats. 

“Do you play?” Hannibal asked.

“Not really. Playing music is not my forte,” Cerulean said from the other room. 

“Singing is, or so I have heard.” Hannibal approached Will’s dresser. Cerulean watched in her peripheral vision. Hannibal did not touch the dresser- he imagined all he would find was varying plaid shirts and white socks. “The voice is simply another kind of instrument. One must learn to play it.”

“Yes, but my voice doesn’t come with strings or keys. Much easier to learn,” Cerulean replied. Hannibal heard her gather her books off the table. He moved to Will’s desk, where a fishing lure lay nearly-finished. The bright orange feathers made it attractive even to the human eye.

“For some. I find stringed instruments much easier myself,” Hannibal said. He ran a finger along the small orange feathers of the lure, Will’s mindful task to take him away from the horrors of his work. “Abigail tells me your voice is lovely.”

“I didn’t realize I was such a popular topic of conversation,” Cerulean said. 

“Oh, yes. I have heard so much about you, I feel as though we already know each other.” Hannibal looked up at her, taking in her careful gaze, and gestured to the lure. “May I?”

“Sure. Dad asked me to, but I don’t have time to,” Cerulean said. She put her books in her bag as Hannibal lifted the last feather for the lure. He carefully placed it on the lure and began winding the string around it.

“Your father thinks very highly of you, Cerulean, as does Abigail. I hope we can become friends,” he said. “Your opinion is important to your father.”

“My dad,” Cerulean corrected. Hannibal suppressed a smirk.

“Excuse me?” 

“He’s not my father, he’s my dad. It’s a subtle difference,” Cerulean said. Hannibal glanced at her as he picked up the small scissors and Cerulean’s eyes flash.

“The word father must remind you of Thomas Barber,” he said, turning back to the lure. “I’m sorry if I brought up bad memories.” And you got quite upset when I did.

“I hardly remember Thomas Barber. There’s not many bad memories to be had,” Cerulean said. “Just a vaguely unpleasant feeling.” I sincerely doubt that. Hannibal finished the lure. He picked it up off the stand and examined it closely. 

“It’s amazing how emotions can be triggered by such innocuous stimuli.” Hannibal, struck by a sudden thought, pressed the hook of the lure into his thumb. It was as incredibly sharp as he’d expected. Blood welled up on the ball of his thumb and he put the bleeding skin to his lips to stem the flow. When Hannibal turned back to Cerulean, she was studying her bag checking she had everything.

“It is, isn’t it?” she said. “I’m just about ready, Doctor.”


End file.
